as K< 





2242 

l. T Q7 Lei and - 

The music lessen 
of Confucius. 



BRANCH 

DIVERSITY OF CALiFOlSl* 

LIBRARY, 

ANGELES. CALIF 



This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 



in L-9-15w-8,'24 



MUSIC-LESSON OF CONFUCIUS, 

AND OTHER POEMS. 



MUSIC-LESSON OF CONFUCIUS, 

AND OTHER POEMS. 



MUSIC-LESSON 



otms. 



CHARLES GODFREY LELAND. 



BOSTON : 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, 

LATE TICKNOR AND FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, AND CO. 
1872. 



63868 



Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1871 

By James R. Osgood and Co., 
Tn the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




CONTENTS. 



The Music-lesson of Confucius . . ._. I 

The Return of the Gods . . .". . . 6 

On Mount Mern . . . . . 1 6 

De Apibus Mortem Domina Lugentibns- . . 1 8 

De Spiridione Episcopo . . . . 20 

Poems of Perfumes : 

Eau de Cologne . . . . ' . 23 

Frcmgipani . . . . . . 26 

Sweet Marjoram . . . . . 29 

Jessamine . . . . 3 2 

Rose Perfume . . . . . . 34 

Sweet Basil . . . . 35 

Many in One . . . . . 3& 

A Thousand Years Ago . - . . . 60 



vi Contents. 






PAGE 


Legends of the Birds : 




The Wonderful Crow 


63 


The Swallow . . 


66 


The Swan . . . . . . , 


67 


The Peacock . . . . ' 


69 


The Eagle 


r. 7 o 


The Owl 


71 


To You 


73 


' To Rise with Thee!' 


77 


Alma Venus 


80 


The Origin of Wheat 


81 


Song of the New Year 


82 


In the North 


85 


In the South . . . . . . 


86 


The Dream . . 


88 


The World and the World 


89 


Buzz! . . . . . . 


90 


The Roman Ring 


92 


The Fall of the Trees 


94 


Theleme 


95 


The Riddler 


98 


Maiden's Lave . . 


100 


The Fountain Fay 


. . IO2 


A Spark in the Ashes 


104 


Tlie Trees of Life 


106 


The Two Friends 


107 



Contents. 


vii 




PACE 


In the Old Time 


108 


Brave Heart 


109 


Gentle Heart 


in 


The Bridge and the Brook^ . . 


"3 


Mine Own 


114 


Woman's Witt . . 


116 


'. Portraits : 




Louise in Normandy 


117 


j 

Eva . . 


118 


Manuela 


119 


Ermengilde 


. . 120 


Callirhoe ' . . . . . . 


121 


Miriam 


122 


Florence 


124 


Then and Now . . 


125 


The Prophet 


126 






\ A Song without an End , . 


127 






Waking Dreams 


128 


Mountain and Sea 


. . 129 


\ Where? . . . . . . 


130 


j Euthanasia 


133 


: Frost Pictures . . 


133 


* Perseverando ' . . 


.. I 3 6 


j America and Columbia . . 


. . 138 


5 Spring- . . 


139 


The Language of the Sea . . 


140 



viii Contents. 

PAGE 

Long Ago . . . . . . . . 141 

Lost Dreams , . . . . . . . 142 

In a Dream . . . . . . . . 144 

Paradise Lost . . . . . . . . 145 

The Difference .. .. .. .. 146 

How the Engineer died at Desjardins . . 147 
Songs of the American War of Emancipation : 

The Knight and the Dragon . . . . 151 

A Song of '62 . . . . . . 154 

Cavalry Song . . . . . . 156 

The Proclamation .. . . . . 158 

When the Captain is Ready to Ride . . 160 

The Beginning of the End . . . . 162 

Free! . . . . . . . . 164 

Real Incidents ; Blue and Grey .. .. 166 



THE MUSIC-LESSON OF CONFUCIUS. 



THE music-lesson of Koung-tseu the wise, 
Known as Confucius in the western world. 

Of all the sages of the Flowery Land 
None knew so well as great Confucius 
The ancient rites ; and when his mother died, 
Three years he mourned alone beside her tomb 
As the Old Custom bade, nor did he miss 
A single detail of the dark old forms 
Required of the bereaved, for he had made 
Himself a model for all living men : 
A mirror and a pattern of the Past. 

Now when the years of mourning with their rites 

Were at an end, Confucius came forth 

And wandered as of old with other men, 

Giving his counsel unto many kings ; 

But still the hand of grief was on his heart, 

And his dark hue set forth his darkened hours. 

To drive away these sorrows from his soul, 

Remembering that music had been made 

A moral motive in the golden books 

Of wisdom by the sacred ancestors, 

He played upon the Kin the curious lute 

Invented by Fou-Hi in days of old ; 



2 The Music-lesson of Confucius. 

Fou-Hi of the bull's head and dragon's form, 
The Lord of Learning who upraised mankind 
From being silent brutes to singing men. 

In vain Confucius played upon the lute ; 

He found that music would not be to him 

What it had been of old a pastime gay : 

For he had borne through three long years of grief 

Stupendous knowledge, and his mighty soul, 

Grasping the lines which link all earthly lore, 

Had been by suffering raised to greater power : 

For he who knows and suffers, if he will 

May raise himself unnumbered scales o'er man. 

The music spoke no more its wonted sounds, 
But whispered mysteries in a broken tongue 
Which urged him sorely. Then Confucius said : 
' O 'secret Music ! sacred tongue of God ! 
I hear thee calling to me, and I come ! 
Of old I did but know thy outer form 
And dreamed not of the spirit hid within ; 
The Goddess in the Lotus. Yes, I come, 
And will not rest nor will I calm my doubt 
Till I have seen thee plainly with mine eyes, 
And palpably have touched thee with my hand, 
Then shall I know thee raised to life for me 
For what thou truly art 

Lo ! I have heard 

That in the land of Kin a master lives, 
So deeply skilled in music, that mankind 
Begin again to give a glowing faith 
Unto the golden stories which are told 
Of the strange harmonies which built the world, 
And of the melody whose key is God. 
Now I will travel to the land of Kin, 
And know this sage of music, great Siang, 



The Music-lesson of Confucius. 

And learn the secret lore which hides within 

All sweet well-ordered sounds.' He went his way, 

Nor rested till he stood before the man. 

Thus spoke Siang unto Confucius : 

' Of all the arts, great Music is the art 

To raise the soul above all earthly storms ; 

For in it lies \ha.\. purest harmony 

Which lifts us over self and up to God. 

Thou who hast studied deeply the Koua 

The eight great symbols of created things 

Knowest the sacred power of the line 

Which when unbroken flies to all the worlds 

As light unending but in broken forms 

Falls short as sky and earth, clouds, winds, and fire, 

The deep blue ocean and the mountain high, 

And the red lightning hissing in the wave. 

The mighty law which formed what thou canst see, 

As clearly lives in all that thou canst hear, 

And more than this, in all that thou canst feel. 

Here, take thy lute in hand. I teach the air 

Made by the sage Wen Wang of ancient days.' 

Confucius took the lute and played the air 
Till all his soul seemed passing into song ; 
Then he fell deep into the solemn chords 
As though his body and the lute were one, 
And every chord a wave which bore him on 
Through the great sea of ecstasy. His hands 
Then ceased to play but in his raptured look 
They saw him following out the harmony. 

Five days went by, and still Confucius 
Played all day long the ancient simple air ; 
And when Siang would teach him more, he said.: 
1 Not yet, my master, I would seize the thought, 



4 The Music-lesson of Confucius. 

The subtle thought which hides within the tune.' 

To which the master answered : ' It is well. 

Take five days more ! ' And when the time was 

passed 

Unto Siang thus spoke Confucius : 
' I do begin to see yet what I see 
Is very dim. I am as one who looks 
And nothing sees except a luminous cloud : 
Give me but five more days, and at the end 
If I have not attained the great idea 
Hidden of old within the melody, 
I will leave music as beyond my power.' 
' Do as thou wilt, Oh pupil ! ' cried Siang 
In deepest admiration ; 'never yet 
Had I a scholar who was like to thee.' 

And on the fifteenth day Confucius rose 

And stood before Siang, and cried aloud : 

' The mist which shadowed me is blown away, 

I am as one who stands upon a cliff 

And gazes far and wide upon the world, 

For I have mastered every secret thought, 

Yea, every shadow of a feeling dim 

Which flitted through the spirit of Wen Wang 

When he composed that air. I speak to him, 

I hear him clearly answer me again ; 

And more than that I see his very form : 

A man of middle stature, with a hue 

Half blended with the dark and with the fair ; 

His features long and large sweet eyes which beam 

With great benevolence a noble face ! 

His voice is deep and full, and all his air 

Inspires a sense of virtue and of love. 

I know that I behold the very man, 

The sage of ancient days, Wen Wang the just.' 



The Music-lesson of Confucius. 

Then good Siang lay down upon the dust, 

And said : ' Thou art my master. Even thus 

The ancient legend, known to none but me, 

Describes our first great sire. And thou hast seen 

That which I never yet myself beheld, 

Though I have played the sacred song for years, 

Striving with all my soul to penetrate 

Its mystery unto the master's form, 

Whilst thou hast reached it at a single bound : 

Henceforth the gods alone can teach thee tune.' 



THE RETURN OF THE GODS. 



' Greece so thoroughly wrought out its conception of the beautiful 
human animal as to make an idol of it, and in order to glorify 
it on earth they made a divinity of it in heaven.' TJie Philo 
sophy of Art, by H. Taine. 

LIKE one who looks over a city when day is beginning 

to break, 
I look o'er the million-homed age where we live, in the 

dusk of the dawn, 
Seeing the sunlight on steeples, or edging the turrets 

and towers, 
While the streets and the low -lying houses are grey in 

the gloaming or gloom. 
Light in the eye of the thinker ; light on the brow of 

the wise, 
Dimmering shade in the spirit of him who is hopeless 

and low. 

But far on the fire-flashing mountains which circle the 

town of the time 
Flame brighter and higher the glories, though deeper 

and grander the gloom. 
Like gods freshly set on the summits, just resting a 

moment, but soon 



The Return of the Gods. 7 

To sweep down the sides to the valleys, and conquer 

the giants of night. 
Yes, they are coming in glory again to resplendour the 

world, 
The gods whom we thought were long-perished : 

Olympus is coming again. 

In the roar of the terrible engine, in boats which go 

onward by steam, 
Or the pathways of iron extending from ocean to 

ocean unbent. 
In bridges once buried, deep hidden, now binding the 

summits of cliffs ; 
In wheels which are whirling for ever to multiply 

comfort for man : 
All this but the little beginning all this but the 

mustard-seed small ; 
When all is unfolded, oh Vulcan, wilt thou not be with 

us again ? 

When Genius in infinite channels, when Labour with 

infinite might 
Shall have solved all the problems we dream of, while 

solving, creating anew ; 
When the branches while further diverging send 

quicker the sap to the root 
And the highest adventurous blossom feels deepest its 

part in the whole, 
Will Man then believe in his power, and, scorning the 

petty and vile, 
Be grand in his power creative and Vulcan be with us 

again ? 

Fhul Khan Tubal Cain the Fire Monarch first 

king and first master of Iron ! 
They could not dispense with the blacksmith, the 

smith who by right was a god 



8 The Return of the Gods. 

And the right-hand of every warrior, yes, ev_n the 

master of Mars ; 
But they shamed him and lamed him, those proud 

ones, and punished him with his reward. 
Now he cometh, he cometh in glory, his lameness and 

shame are removed, 
And Art in its union with Beauty shines brighter with 

Honour and Pride. 

Venus, the life of the lovely soul of the exquisite 

charm! 
Thou hast done penance for ages, as we thy poor 

children have done. 
Short was the carnival season in the gay god-land of 

Greece, 
Few were the guests at the banquet, brief was the life 

of the flowers, 

Long was the Lent which came after, bitter the wail 
ing and woe ; 
But the trial was good for the mourners, it humbled 

the cruel and proud, 
It raised up the humble and fallen, gave spirit and 

strength to the poor, 
And is freeing from slavery Woman, the slave of all 

ages gone by. 

Enough of the sackcloth and ashes, enough of the 

penance and pain, 
Enough of deep woe for the Many and feverish joy for 

the Few ; 
Joy which defeats its own wishes and struggles in hard 

narrow rounds 
Ignoring the truth that great Pleasure demands the 

great concourse of All. 
Oh, Mother of rapture and Beauty - thou too hast done 

penance in grief, 



The Return of the Gods. . 9 

Thou did'st rise from the Ocean in glory, red glowing 

to kiss the warm sun ! 
Short were the luscious embraces cold blew the wind 

from the North, 
Thou fell'st in sad tears from Heaven, and on earth 

wert a torrent of tears. 

Now in comfort, with justice and beauty and freedom 

for woman and man, 
Thou wilt rise in a rosier glory, and light every soul 

with a ray. 
For when Man shall have learned that the spirit of Sin 

is but trespass and pain, 
Trespass and pain on his fellow, or idle neglect of his 

own, 
And that Pleasure which injures none other and 

wounds not the spirit of truth, 
Has nothing in common with Evil and touches none 

other but Self, 
Then thou wilt be with us, sweet Mother, and charm 

every soul with thy smile, 
Raising to Art all our labour and Love be the life of 

the world. 

Mars, the magnificent master of warfare with foes to 

the gods, 
Brilliant and bold and unbending thou too wilt rise on 

with the rest, 
For the progress of Man is the progress of gods in the 

infinite scale, 
lie who lifts up the spear to do battle lifts also the 

pennon and steel. 
And though the point shine in the sunlight or gleam 

in the glory of war, 
Far over the head of the knight, it must wait till the 

wood has been raised. 



io The Return of the Gods. 

While Man is deep buried in valleys bis gods live on 

mountains above, 
When he reaches the silvery summits they dwell in the 

gold of the sky. 

No more the Messiah of Murder will Mars be the 

terror of Man, 
No longer the dread of the lowly, the bravo exulting 

in blood. 
For in the great Fight of the Future our foes will be 

mightier far 
Than men of mere sinew and muscle, those foes 

which lie silent around ; 
The rugged rock-giants denying the room for existence 

to all, 
The awful deep Dragon of Ocean still keeping in 

secret its plains, 
And the solemn blue space yet unconquered which 

parts us from numberless stars, 
And the Fire-Land which burns in our centre, these 

foes still await thee, oh Mars ! 

For the doctor who drives out diseases or shortens the 

power of death, 
And the teacher who quickens the spirit and conquers 

the darkness of crime, 
The poet who blesses with beauty the soul which was 

gloomy and grey, 
The builder, the chemist, the workman, are warriors 

each in their way : 
For what were the Jotuns and Titans o'envhelmed by 

the gods of the Past 
But the forces of fire and of mountains, the giants we 

are fighting to-day ? 
Fighting more bravely than ever fighting with better 

success : 



The Return of the Gods. 11 

Oh Mars, them wert in the first battle in the victory 
be by our side ! 

I know that the swift-footed Hermes will soon be be 
loved again, 
For already Man finds with strange rapture he holds 

more than Mercury's power, 
More than the might which was fabled to be. that of 

Hermes of old, 
When he touches the telegraph deftly and talks over 

oceans afar, 
As we go faster in motion ; faster in thought and in 

speech, 
Quicker in means of conveying and shortening the 

path of ideas 
Life will be lengthened while growing, for Thought is 

the measure of life : 
He who speaks or does most in a little is Mercury's 

son and himself. 

And with Labour and Love and with Conquest and 

Speed all the rest will be won, 
With Vulcan and Venus, and Ares, and Hermes fast 

darting afar : 
For Apollo with Muses and Graces the exquisite 

children of Art 
And the sense of the Lovely in Nature as shown in a 

myriad gods, 
All these are just hovering round us, awaiting a place 

in our hearts, 
Not as wearied-out forms of a worship which faded 

long ages ago, 
But as the fresh life of all worship, renewed in Man's 

faith in himself: 
The Man who has risen to Greatness was never yet 

wanting in gods. 



12 TTie Return of the Gods. 

Do your hearts enter into my meaning, ye thinkers 

who list to my song ? 
Do you feel that we come to religion in quitting the 

vulgar and mean ? 
And that Man when he lives in the glory of conquest 

and knows he is great 
Soon learns that the power of crushing the Time-worn 

means this to be free, 
Freedom with power creative, Greatness with Beauty 

and Love, 
Was, is, and shall be for ever, the Godlike in spirit and 

truth. 
And be it in smoke upon Sinai, in temples and 

statues in Greece, 
Or walking by Galilee's waters, the noble is ever a 

god. 

Grander than Plato or Hegel, greater than Bacon or 

Comte, 
Is faith in a noble endeavour, the power to rise to the 

New : 
And the scorn of the ancient Egyptian ; of Hermes, 

for those who but live 
For idle self-will and dull pleasure the million who 

nothing create, 
In the downward-born elements whirling away from 

the centre of God 
Is the first of the wonderful chapter, long written and 

yet to be writ, 
Which told and will tell how the dawning drove 

darkness away from the world, 
And how the small sneer of the Devil was lost in 

God's infinite smile. 

This is the coming of Zeus of Jove, the imperial 
lord! 



The Return of the Gods. 13 

And of Juno his wife and his sister the greatest are 

ever akin 
That Man shall find out he is noble this knowing he 

finds out a god 
And the glory of God will be with him when dignity 

blesses his life. 
Esculapius teaches the lesson the purest of blood are 

most free, 
In strains without taint of disorder the nearest come 

ever more near : 
The souls which live Jove-like in calmness progress in 

perfecting their type ; 
What Satan and folly have hidden, will rise in the 

ages to come. 

' How shall we see the Immortals, and when shall we 

know they are come ? 

In Greece we beheld them in statues unmoving im 
mortals in stone : 
Closed in a book in Judea frozen and centred in 

One, 
Blooming again into Many which flowed from the 

mythical Three, 
And burst into wide-flashing rainbows of colour and 

legend and song 
When the wonderful age mediaeval threw pictures all 

over the world ? ' 
Not in statues or books or in pictures, or churches or 

legends or song 
Will ye see the great gods of your worship whose 

footsteps are sounding afar. 

Ah no ; in yourselves will ye see them, when Venus 

shall favour your love, 
And man, fitly mated with woman, believes that his 

love is divine : 



14 The Return of the Gods. 

When Passion shall elevate Woman to something so 

holy and grand, 
That she the ideal enraptured shall ne'er be a check 

upon Man, 
Then the children they bear will be holy, and Beauty 

shall make them her own, 
And Man in the eyes of his neighbour will gaze on the 

reflex divine 
Of the God he inclines to in spirit or trace in each 

feature and limb 
The lines which the body inherits from souls which 

are noble and true. 

Would thou could'st feel in deep earnest, how beauti 
ful God will be then, 

When we see him as Jove or Apollo in men who in 
spire us with love, 

As Juno and Venus the holy, in women who know not 
the mean, 

And feel not the influence cruel of hardness and self- 
love and scorn. 

Would thou could'st once know how real the presence 
of God will become, 

How earnest and ever more earnest thy faith when 
thyself shall be great, 

And from the true worship of others thou'lt learn 
what is holy in them, 

And rise to the infinite fountain of glory which flows 
in us all. 

But when shall we see the Immortals? believe me 

whenever ye will 
They are near us, around us, within us, awaiting our 

wish and our word. 
More than thy dreams ever pictured, more than thy 

heart ever dreamed, 



The Return of the Cods. 15 

Will pour in increasing abundance on him who has 

freedom and faith ; 
Freedom from meanness and harshness faith in the 

Godhood within 
The ore lies before us in mountains we've power to 

change it to gold : 
Be to thyself what them lovest, and others will be unto 

thee 
What thou wilt. When in God them believest near 

God thou wilt certainly be ! 



i6 



ON MOUNT MERU. 

Will the time come when man, the all-conquering, shall lay his 
hand on the past as on a weapon and say, with it in his terrible 
grasp, to the future, ' Be thou my slave '? 

IN earliest ages on Mount Meru 
Stood together and talked, the Two. 

Gazing far from the golden berg, 
The Daemon spoke to the Demiurg. 

' All is beautiful, all is true ; 

Ocean and sky with their blending blue. 

' All that wends from its type at will 
Is found in some higher harmony still. 

' Leaves deformed on the twig I see, 
But all meet well in the spreading tree. 

' All is beautiful, all is fit, 

One creature alone seems wrong in it 

' The creature Man, the being accurst, 

Unstable, unmeeting, the weakest and worst. 

' All things together seem fitly grown, 

But that monster wanders unplaced and alone.' 

Infinite worlds at the music woke 
When to the Daemon the Maker spoke. 

'Thine is the mission with pain and strife, 
To labour that death may awake to life. 



On Mount Merit. 17 

' Ever denying, destroying, the fight 

Turns falsehood and darkness to truth and light. 

' But all the battles thy craft e'er span 

Will be naught to thy strife with that creature Man. 

' For he alone in creation's range 
Possesses the endless power of change. 

' And when the tortures of change are past, 
He will conquer all things and thee at last." 

Infinite worlds at the jarring stirred, 

When the first-born laughter in life was heard. 

And the Daemon laughed : ' Thou hast given me skill 
To strengthen life with power to kill ; 

' And may I die in my own wild wrath 
If I force not Man to a single path ! 

' My own full power I never have seen 
To show what agony, suffering, mean ; 

' And all my power together I'll draw, 
But Man shall walk in a single law.' 



In later ages on Mount Meru, 
Again time gazed on the fearful Two. 

Slowly the centuries ebbed away : 

At the foot of the Maker the Daemon lay. 

Adown his head the Denier bent : 

' I have worked in all things my course is spent 

' And Man thy creature has conquered me 
For ever Vicisti Calila; !' 



i8 



DE APIBUS MORTEM DOMINIE LU- 
GENTIBUS 

THE sky is grim, the air is grey, 

There is no gossamer on the grass ; 
In shadows dim the vine-leaves swing, 
Softly browning and goldening, 

And curling aside that the grapes may pass ; 
The grapes which all summer were lurking unseen, 
Green themselves in their drapery green. 
Now they are purple and scented sweet, 
And hang like bags of unmade wine : 
Long may they hang, for they never will greet 
Again in the morning that form divine 
Of a beautiful girl now dead and gone, 
Whose hands should have pressed 
From each purple breast 
Wine royal, the Porphyrogeniton. 

So still and strange ! 

So grave and slow ! 

It seems as if all things must ever be so 
In a world which only spirits know ; 

Is that a sound 

In the garden's bound 

Or a sigh just dreamed, 

So soft and low ? 

Yes it is coming a wondrous humming, 
A weirdly, mournful Elfin drumming, 

Rising and dying, 

Then silent lying ; 



De Afibus Mortem Domintz Lugentibus. 19 

The saddest sound upon earth below 
A murmur of grief for a maiden gone, 
And the bees are mourning Melittion. 

There was no human eye to weep 
When the lonely girl laid down to sleep 
And die, a -.humble Dacian slave, 
Far cast by war into a grave. 
Yet she was ever good and mild, 
And softer spoken than a child ; 
And when her daily work was done 
She loved to wander by the corn 
Singing, yet understood by none, 
A murmuring lay 
Which died away 

In a sigh forlorn. 

Then rose in a melody sweet and warm, 
Buzzing and humming quaintly dull, 
Droning and rolling and wonderful 
Whispering, hushing, lulling, soft 

In solemn tones and dying thrills, 
Honeyed and hive-like, fading oft 

Like a twilight song from distant hills. 
And as she sang, with waving arm, 

If they asked her what the song might be, 
She said it was called the Wild Bee's Charm, 

And her mother sang it beyond the sea, 
And the Spirit Ladies who flit through the corn 
Had taught her of old the melody. 

Twilight and eve 

They murmur and grieve, 
Humming and drumming mournfully, 
Wailing for they have lost their head, 
And the Dacian Queen-Bee Girl is dead. 



20 



DE SPIRIDIONE EPISCOPO. 

THIS is the story of Spiridion, 
Bishop of Cyprus by the grace of God, 
Told by Ruffinus in his history. 

A fair and stately lady was Irene, 
Spiridion's daughter, and in all the land 
Was none so proud, if that indeed be pride, 
The haughty conscience of great truthfulness 
Which makes the spirit faithful unto death 
And martyrdom itself a little thing. 

There came a stranger to Spiridion, 

A wealthy merchant from the Syrian land, 

W T ho, greeting, said, ' Good father, I have here 

A golden casket filled with Roman coin, 

And Eastern gems of cost uncountable. 

Great are the dangers of the rocky road, 

False as a serpent is the purple sea, 

And he who carries wealth in foreign lands 

Carries his death too often near his heart, 

And finds life's poison where he hoped to find 

Against its pains a pleasant antidote. 

I pray you keep for me these gems in trust 

And give them to me when I come again. ' 

Spiridion listened with a friendly smile, 
And answered thus the dark-browed Syrian : 
' Here is a better guardian of gold : 



De Spiridione Efiscofo. 21 

My daughter, Sir. The people round about 

Are wont to say that if she broke her faith 

Silver and gold themselves would lose their shine. 

She is our island's trusty treasurer : ' 

' Then,' said the Syrian, ' she shall be mine 

As well as theirs ' and saying this he gave 

The casket with the jewels to her hand. 

Then thoughtfully the lady answered him, 

As one who slowly turns some curious thought, 

And as they sometimes speak who prophesy : 

' Sir, you have called this treasure life and death, 

Which in your Eastern lore, as I have read, 

Is the great symbol of the deity, 

And the most potent spell to sway the world. 

With life to death I'll guard the gems for you, 

And dead or living give them back again.' 

Now, while the merchant went to distant Rome 

The fair Irene died a sudden death, 

And all the land went mourning for the maid ; 

And on the roads and in the palaces 

Was one long wail for her by night and day. 

While thus they grieved the Syrian came again, 

And after fit delay, in proper time 

Went to the father : to Spiridion ; 

Condoling with him on his daughter's death 

In many a sad and gentle Eastern phrase 

Deep tinctured with a strange philosophy. 

Now, when they had awhile consumed their grief, 

Outspoke the Bishop : ' Syrian, it is well 

If this sad death be not more sad for us 

Than thou hast dreamed of.' Here he checked his 

speech, 

And then, as if in utter agony, 
Burst forth with : ' She is gone and all thy store, 
It too is gone She only, upon earth, 



22 De Spindlone Episcopo. 

Knew where 'twas hidden, and she trusted none : 
Oh, God be merciful ! what shall I do ? ' 

Then on him gravely looked the Syrian 
With grand calm mien, as almost pitying, 
And said, 'Oh, father, can this be \\vjfaith? 
Man of the West, how little did'st thou know 
The wondrous nature of that girl now dead ! 
Hast thou not heard that they who once become 
Faithful to death are masters over death, 
And here and there on earth a woman lives 
Whose eyes proclaim the mighty Victory won ? 
Give me thy hand, and lead me to the dead 
Thou know'st it is not all of death to die.' 

He took his hapd, and led him to the bier, 
And they beheld the Beautiful in Death, 
The perfect loveliness of Grecian form, 
Inspired by Egypt's solemn mystery : 
A single pause in the eternity 
Of Present, Past, and Future all in one. 

Awhile they stood and gazed upon the dead, 

And then Spiridion spoke as one inspired : 

' Oh God ! thou wert our witness make it known ! ' 

He paused in solemn awe, for at the word 

There came an awful sign. The dead white hand 

Was lifted, and Irene's eyes unclosed, 

Beaming with light as only angels beam, 

And from the cold white lips there came a voice : 

' The gems lie hidden in the garden wall ; 

God bless thee, father, for thy constant love ! 

God bless thee, Syrian, for thy faith in me ! ' 

This is the story of Spiridion, 

And of his daughter, faithful unto death. 



POEMS OF PERFUMES. 



EAU DE COLOGNE. 

THE beautiful Queen of Hungary, 
A sad and weary woman was she, 
Since for many weeks a terrible pain 
Seemed burning and darting through her brain. 
Long were the nights, for little she slept ; 
Longer the days, for all day she wept ; 
Wretched as woman with pain could be 
Was the beautiful Queen of Hungary. 

Nothing at all could the doctors do, 

Though they searched their folios through and through 

And the wonder was as the weeks went by, 

That of such torment she did not die. 

But her Majesty had a will of her own, 

And a brave little heart as ever was known, 

And very determined to live was she, 

The beautiful Queen of Hungary. 

Finding all pharmacy false and fair, 

Her Majesty took to penance and prayer, 

' Blessed Otilia, aid me ! ' she cried : 

' Sweet Juliana, be thou my guide ! ' 

For these are the saints whom the Church has said 

Should be called upon for a pain in the head, 

So she went to them for a remedy : 

The beautiful Queen of Hungary. 



24 Poems of Perfumes. 

Long she prayed, till at length it seemed 

That though still waking and praying she dreamed. 

All around shone a living light 

Of angels in angels gleaming bright, 

A glory of faces in all the air, 

Each blended of faces still more fair, 

And rapt in this radiant mystery, 

Was the beautiful Queen of Hungary. 

But where the splendour brightest shone 
Two fairer figures stood gazing down 
On the suffering Queen with a loving air, 
The two she had called on in her prayer 
Oh ! the fondest lover has never known 
Such beauty in her he would call his own, 
And on earth such light you could never see 
As shone on the Queen of Hungary. 

Saint Juliana the silence broke, 

And thus to the kneeling lady spoke : 

' Long hast thou suffered 'tis time to know 

The pleasure which comes when torments go. 

Mary the Mother is Rose of Heaven, 

By the Rosa Mystica life is given ; 

Take, in her name, of rose-mary, 

Oh, penitent Queen of Hungary ! 

' Then of Melissa, the honeyed balm, 
Which soothed of old the martyr's qualm, 
Spirit of rose from the garden bower, 
Of fresh sweet mint and the orange-flower, 
Blended together these scents give forth 
The freshest fragrance known on earth ; 
And since it was first revealed to thee, 
They shall call it the water of Hungary.' 



Eau de Cologne. 

The heavenly recipe was tried 
With great success, and far and wide 
Men boasted much of its power to cure, 
And said that in headaches 'twas ever sure. 
With time some changes o'er it came, 
Till at last they changed its very name, 
Yet 'tis true enough, and to many known, 
That this was the first of Eau de Cologne, 
So whenever you use it grateful be 
To the sainted Queen Elsa of Hungary. 



26 



FRANGIPANI. 



WHILE Mutio da Frangipani chose 

To walk on earth and lead the course called life, 

Men said he was a mighty alchemist, 

The greatest master of all mystic lore ; 

And yet they never feared him. Where he went 

All women smiled, and men held out their hands, 

Or gave him kindest greeting. One could tell, 

In street or hall, where Frangipani stood 

By the gay group around him, and the laugh 

Reechoing his own but his, indeed, 

Ah, that was laughter like a Grecian god's, 

Deep, resonant, and wild as the full bay 

Of Odin's hounds and when that laugh was heard 

The sick would raise their eyelids and exclaim, 

' We shall be well, for Frangipani comes ! ' 

And then the nurse would add : 'Yes, when he comes 

My labour will be ended. Faith, I think 

That Frangipani's shadow is worth more 

Than any doctor, body, soul, and all, 

Who walks the streets of Rome. Ah, there's a man 

Who does not dread the poor. Yet he's a lord, 

One of our oldest, noblest families, 

And true unto its name. Did you ne'er hear 

How centuries ago there lived a count 

So full of kindness and all charity 



Frangipani. 27 

That when a famine came he gave his gold 

Unto the poor, until one loaf of bread 

Was all remaining to him, and of this 

He gave a beggar half, and gained thereby 

The name, so famous in our history, 

Of Frangipani " he who breaks the bread " ? 

This picture hangs in the south-western hall 

Of their old palace ; and 'tis very strange 

How greatly it resembles Mutio, 

Who passes all his time in doing good. ' 

This was his reputation, but his ways 

Were, little like the ways of those who live 

Deep in the darkest learning. Dance and song 

Were merrier for his presence. Once he gave 

An honest inn-keeper, whose trade was dull, 

The recipe for that great cordial 

Ros Salts or rosoglio ' the sundew,' 

Of musk and coriander and sweet seeds 

Well steeped in good red wine of Italy. 

A cordial which made the landlord rich, 

And then went forth o'er all the Christian world 

As a most excellent and Christian drink, 

Well suited unto ladies. Truly, he 

Was greatly loved by them, and 'twas not strange, 

Although the stories were which people told 

Of his most liberal friendship. Thus 'twas said 

That ten brief words once whispered in the ear 

Of Clara di Savelli in a dance 

Taught her a secret which prolonged her youth 

Full forty years. And when she died at last, 

She looked into her mirror, with a smile 

At her still wondrous beauty, and exclaimed, 

' I need not die were Frangipani here : 

Yet do not send for him. I'm tired of play, 

And need a little rest. Tell him I'll come 

On earth again some day to visit him. 



28 Poems of Perfumes. 

There came a strange disease o'er Italy, 

What 'twas we know not but it vexed men sore, 

Till Frangipani found a remedy 

Exceeding pleasant, sweet as summer flowers : 

A perfumed powder in a velvet bag 

Inhaled from hour to hour. It was a cast 

Of odours rare of orris mixed with spice, 

Sandal and violet, with musk and rose 

Combined in due proportion. Thus he made 

The first bouquet of scents. The malady 

Soon passed away the remedy remains, 

And with it lives the alchemist's great name 

In most enduring fragrance, for he said 

'Twas Frangipani's legacy to all 

The ladies of all time ; he loved them so, 

That he would have his name for ever breathed 

By them as 'twere a spirit 'mong the flowers. 



SWEET MARJORAM. 



AM AR AC OS the beautiful was page, 
Or, as some say, the son of Cinyras, 
A famous hero in the morning time 
Of history, when history was a dream, 
And gods meant passions, feelings, scents, and sounds, 
And kings and queenly girls and children fair 
Acted with singing flowers and talking birds, 
Strange fairy tales of nature's mysteries. 
Cinyras in tne isle of Cyprus served 
*As the high-priest of Venus. Very dear 
To him was her great name, and all her rites 
Were as the very spirit of his soul, 
For he had looked on beauty through all lands, 
And cast his worship starward in the night 
Through the dark violet heaven and in all 
Had found that by her power all things drew 
Together and made life /yea, death itself 
Was but a pause to leap to life again ; 
And therefore by much study of this thought 
It seemed to him the chiefest end of life 
To honour her, and this lie taught his son ; 
The pride and glory of the services 
Of Aphrodite's temple filled his soul. 

Love leads to present rapture, then to pain, 
But all through Love in time is healed again. 



There was a grand procession to the shrine 

On the great festival, when, as they say, 

A voice is heard upon the silent hills 

Through all the world, yea, and through all the worlds, 

Proclaiming worship to the Queen of Love. 

And in the train upon this holy day, 

Most beautiful among the beautiful 

Went young Amaracos. His office was 

To bear the precious Alabaster vase 

Which in the olden time had come to earth, 

Soft borne by doves unto the Cyprian shrine, 

A gift from Venus to her worshippers. 

What was within the vase no sage could say, 

But this they knew, it gave a sweet perfume 

Unlike all fragrant odours known on earth, 

And every one did deem himself most blessed 

Who could inhale it. Therefore he who bore 

The vase was in great honour. All the lords 

Of all the land came smiling to the boy, 

Each seeking by his courtesy to inhale 

The sacred breath of Venus, for they deemed 

The mystic vase sent forth an aura sweet 

Like that which hangs around the dame divine ; 

And as he went, bearing his sacred charge, 

Hearing his beauty praised by young and old, 

Full of the glory of the loveliness 

In which he lived, to which his life was given, 

Pride swelled within his heart, yet scarce had risen, 

When, lo ! a wild dove from a wood near by, 

Dashed boldly on the wing close to his head : 

Yes flapped her pinions in his very face, 

And he, all startled by this portent strange, 

Let fall the vase he felt it slip in vain ! 

A fright like sickness flashed across his soul : 

Down went the vase and shattered on the ground. 

One long loud wail rose from the gentle boy, 



Sweet Marjoram. 

And instant agony thrilled all the crowd 

At this most dark disaster. Then they saw 

Amaracos fall down upon the earth 

Dead to the heart, but even as he fell 

He vanished from their sight, and with him went 

The fragments of the vase. Nothing remained, 

But on the earth a new-grown herb there stood 

Beside a mantle, and its leaves gave forth, 

Richer and sweeter than the vase had done, 

The self-same sacred fragrance, which is called 

The scent Amdrakine. The plant grew well, 

And others throve from it in every land. 

A better gift from Venus than the first : " 

And maidens call it the Sweet Marjoram. 



JESSAMINE. 

AN ARAB POEM. 

THE secret mystery of the Jessamine 
Sung by an Arab poet long ago, 
Azzodmo'l Moccadesi the sage, 
Among the voices of the Morning Land. 

' Jos in the Arab language is despair, 
And Min the darkest meaning of a lie. 
Thus cried the Jessamine among the flowers, 

' How justly doth a lie 

Draw on its head despair ! 
Among the fragrant spirits of the bowers 
The boldest and the strongest still was I. 

Although so fair, 

Therefore from Heaven 
A stronger perfume unto me was given 
Than any blossom of the summer hours. 

' And there is nothing unto me so sweet 

As to be borne from loving friend to friend 
When minutes chase the minutes ever fleet, 

And the beginning seems too near the end. 
Then I cast all my secret treasure forth, 

And she who puts me in her bosom finds, 
The warmer place she gives, the better worth, 

The odour sweeter than the summer winds, 
Bestowed by me upon each pleasant breast 
Between the pillows where I had my rest. 



Jessamine. 33 

1 Where'er I go I make my secret known 

And cast my sweet aroma all around, 
And the most delicate and gifted own 
That in my breath a fresher life is found. 

But chiefly I delight 

When anxious passion wakened to a glow 
By my seductive fragrance flames to fire, 
And eyes meet eyes and souls each other know, 
Even to rapture all ineffable 

Which nothing knew before, 
And lips to lips are given 
As souls in heaven 
They go 
To bliss 
And in one long sweet passionate gasp expire ! 

' Among the flowers no perfume is like mine ; 

That which is best in me comes from within. 
So those who in this life would rise and shine 

Should seek internal excellence to win. 
And though 'tis true that falsehood and despair 

Meet in my name, yet bear it still in mind 
That -where they meet they perish. All is fair 

When they are gone, and nought remains behind.' 



34 



ROSE PERFUME. 

JIZCHACH BEN AKIBA the Cabalist, 

The Emperor Rudolph's friend and favourite, 

Dwelling at Prague, determined to resist 

The power of death, however he might smite, 

Therefore he charmed all metals, beasts, and men, 

All hills and rivulets, all rocks and trees, 

The reeds which rustled by the oozy fen, 

All birds which ran or soared or skimmed the seas, 

That none of them should harm him, and at last, 

When he had made the mighty list complete, 

He proudly cried, ' The hour will soon be past, 

And Azrael lie conquered at my feet ! ' 

With this he plucked a rose, but as he smelt 

Its fragrance knew that death had reached his heart, 

And saw the awful shade who never knelt 

To king or magian, standing with his dart : 

' How hast thou dared,' he cried, ' to use that flower, 

Against my life, when by the mighty charm 

Of God 'twas bound to spare me from thy power, 

And never yield itself to do me harm ? ' 

' Son,' said the angel, ' it is not the rose 

Which kills thee, but the rose's sweet perfume. 

The wine is not the goblet whence it flows, 

The fragrance not the blossom or its bloom. 

'Twas through that fragrance that I reached thy brain ; 

But haclst thou charmed the perfume with thy spell 

I could have used the perfume's life again, 

Or that life's spirit, as thou know'st full well. 

And still beyond, the subtle tinctures seven, 

Which spread in circles infinite to heaven. 



SWEET BASIL. 

Quo molltiis eo suavius. 
' The softer the sweeter." 

THE state of Genoa was strong and proud, 
So was the Duke of Milan, and the pair 
Fell to disputing trifles, and to talk 
Of war, as dogs ere fighting show their teeth, 
And growl with savage boast before they bite. 

But ere it came to blows the Genoese, 
At least, the wiser of their senators, 
Summoned the man most learned in the law 
Of all their land, Francesco Marchio, 
And bade him go to Milan and the Duke, 
And call on him for speedy settlement 
Of all the points disputed. So he went, 
And was received with that great courtesy, 
And very liberal hospitality, 
Which all the great in station, or in soul, 
Show unto those who stand too near the line 
Of enmity to be considered friend, 
And yet not near enough to count as foes . 

Day after day passed by, and nought was done, 
Though oft Francesco Marchio pressed his claim 
To be considered. All their answers were 
' We'll see to it a thousand pardons, Sir ! 



36 Poems of Perfumes. 

Your Excellence is ever in our mind. 

The case must be considered. Genoa 

Is doubtless a great state, but every state 

Has its own time and method we have ours : 

In the mean time we pray you to accept 

Our warm assurances of great respect.' 

And so they played the never-ending air 

With all the modulations ; which to hear 

And not rush forth enraged, to hang himself 

Driven to madness by monotony, 

Is the great task of every diplomat, 

Which once achieved, leads to the height of fame. 

A wary, shrewd, old, well-filed Genoese 

Was this same Marchio, so he took his time, 

Or let the Duke of Milan take it, till. 

The want of courtesy in the long delay 

Had turned against the host. Meanwhile he spread 

A busy rumour that the Genoese 

Had sent him there but to procrastinate 

And hinder settlement, while they themselves 

Were gathering men and arms to go to war. 

When this fine tale went buzzing through the town, 
There came a speedy summons from the Duke 
To Marchio, and the cunning councillor 
Hastened to heed the bidding. But few words 
Had passed between them ere Francesco held 
Some twigs of fair sweet-Basil forth, and said, 
' I pray your Highness mark this curious herb ; 
Touch it but lightly, stroke it softly, Sir, 
And it gives forth an odour sweet and rare ; 
But crush it harshly and you'll make a scent 
Most disagreeable. So with Genoa, 
Handle it gently, 'tis all gentleness, 
But treat it rudely, 'twill be rude in turn.' 



Sweet Basil. 37 

The speech, 'tis said, impressed the Ducal host, 
And soon the ambassador, full-satisfied, 
Returned to Genoa. The state, well-pleased, 
Gave him sweet-Basil for his coat-of-arms 
As a reward, and for a motto put 
Quo mollius eo suavius in his shield. 



63868 



MANY IN ONE. 

A POEM IN THREE PARTS. 
MYTHICAL, MEDIAEVAL, MODERN. 



PART I. 

MYTHICAL. 

BEL ER OPH ADON, 

First of enchanters 
In the old moon time, 
Lord of the Fire Land, 
Plougher of Orcus, 
Scarlet-bom, Sun-born, 
Azure-born, Sea-born, 
Purple-born, King-bom, 
Learned in all magic 
By long endurance, 
Penance, and torture 
From the abysses 
Of Godhood tremendous, 
Gained him such power, 
Wrenched forth such glory : 
Never was mortal 
Clad in such beauty, 
Forced from the 
From the abysses, 



Many in One. 39 

Terrible beauty, 
Loveliness fearful, 
Splendour of ages ; 

Such was his form. 

Bel Er Oph Adon 
Rose in the evening, 
Purple and rose-glown. 
Light was around him, 
Fairer the radiance 
Shed from his features ; 
Back on the sunset, 
Back on the purple, 
Splendour o'er splendour, 
Beauty o'er beauty 
Flashes his god-light. 
Bel Er Oph Adon 
Goes to his bridal ; 
She, the great Star Queen, 
Venus the golden, 
Ivory, crimson, 
Waits for his coming, 
Waits for his beauty, 
She, the Immortal, 
Seeks his embraces, 
In her pavilion 
Flashes celestial 
Ray forth her raptures . 
All through the night time 
Quivers the North Light ; 
So love the Gods. 

Thus spoke the Star Queen : 
' Bel Er Oph Adon, 
Thou who of mortals 
Only hast mastered 



4 Many in One. 



unnumbered, 
Tinctures of beauty 
Over the earth-born, 
E'en to the glories 
Which my earth kingdom 
Shows not to mortals. 
Lord of enchanters, 
Say, can thy magic, 
Can thy ambition 
Picture more honour 
Than the sweet rapture 
God-given, God-flowing, 
Of my embraces ? 
Know'st thou in Orcus ? 
Know'st thou aught earthly ? 
Know'st thou in ocean ? 
Know'st thou in air life ? 
Or in the ages 
Coming or vanished, 
Aught like this pleasure ? 

Answer my soul. ' 

Thus to the Star Queen 
Answered the Magus : 
' Fairer than thou art 
. Never was Goddess, 
Sweeter or dearer, 
.And in the ages 
Flowing and coming, 
All shades of heaven 
Onward for ever 
Know of no rapture 
Like thy embraces. 
Yet if thou seekest 
Thus I must answer ; 
Truth is my power, 



Many in One, 41 

By truth I ascended ; 
And I am prouder 
That each great goddess 
In the great kingdoms 
Made me her lover. 
Deep in the darkness 
Far among shadows, 
By the pale Empress 
Splendid in horror, 
Fearful in beauty, 
Long time I lingered. 
Oft in the Spring-tide 
On the green mountain 
Came to me, kissed me, 
Under dark branches, 
Hid from the moonlight, 
Dione the fair. 

Baaltis the Ancient, 
Queen of the Mountains, 
Glowing gold -lustred, 
Breathing hot perfumes, 
Sparkling in splendour, 
Pantherine graceful, 
Lost in black tresses 
Like a white swan 
On the Stygian river, 
Wooed me in madness, 
Wooed me and won me ; 
So did Astarte, 
Lady of Fire Land, 
So did Melitta 
Mel Ida, Meldea, 
She of the Sun-realm 
Queen of the orgy, 
Fearful and passionate, 



4 2 Many i/i One. 

Secret and sacred. 
Eastward or Westward, 
Heaven-born earthly, 
All the great beauties 
Worshipped by mortals, 
All have caressed me. 
Thee I have best loved ; 
Yet since thou askest 
What makes me proudest, 
Truly I answer 

All make me proud. 

Thus answered Venus, 
Fair Aphrodite, 
Rose-tinted sea foam : 
' That which we love best 
Should make us proudest. 
Never should true love 
From pride be dissevered, 
And in thy love now 
Shall both be united. 
Listen to secrets 
Awful and charming ; 
When in the shadows 
Deep in the caverns 
Lovely Persephone 
Clasped thee with kisses, 
I was thy loved one. 
When on the mountain 
Stately Dione 
In thy embraces 
Made the leaves rustle, 
I was thy beauty, 
Bow-bearing, moon-horned. 
I was Baaltis, 
Morning land-splendourecl, 



Many in One. 43 

Serpentine twining, 
Glowing in glory, 
Passionate lovely, 

Many and One. 

' I was all others, 

All who have loved thee ; 

White Anaitis 

Loveliness flowing, 

Limbs like milk rivers ; 

Also Melitta. 

Goddess of Sweetness, 

Honey and perfume, 

Terrible pleasures 

Are her embraces. 

Infinite thrilling 

The luscious arcana 

Taught in her orgies, 

Flashed in her glances : 

Yet was Melitta 

The ray of my spirit, 

And with the goddess 

And in the goddess 

Thou wert with me love. 

High in the heavens, 

On the green mountains, 

Deep in hell's palace, 

I the One Only 

Held thee in rapture, 

Ever enjoying 

Thy faith in the Many, 

Even as thou in 

Thy faith wert delighted ; 

Now thou hast all, love ; 

Now thou hast learned love, 

All is in love. ' 



44 



PART II. 

MEDIAEVAL. 

BE'T far or near, 
Dark tales we hear 

How Satan wins the soul 
Of those who fain 
Would wisdom gain, 

Or yield to Love's control ; 
Yet well I wete 
That wisdom great 

Ne'er caused a soul to fall, 
And those who sin 
True love to win 

Have never sinned at all. 

For wisdom high 
Can pierce the sky 

To Heaven's brightest bower, 
And true love's spell 
Send joy through hell, 

Where devils sit in dour ; 
And ye in doubt 
Who stay without, 

Awhile your minds engage, 
While I unfold 
The story old 

Of Satan and the Sage. 



Many in One. 45 

In Italic 
Beyond the sea 

There lived a man so learned, 
All heathen lore 
From days of yore 

By magic he discerned. 
In many a tomb, 
In ancient gloom 

Unbroke since Jovis sped, 
He all day long 
With magic song 

Held speech with Romans dead. 

Each goblin child, 
And fairies wild 

That in the rivers swim, 
And sylphids rare 
Who float in air, 

Made strange discourse to him. 
From antique graves 
And hidden caves 

Deep murmurings were cast, 
And statues white 
In dim moonlight 

Cried Salve ! as he passed. 

And for such sin 
His soul within 

Had Satan power to lay 
A dismal curse 
To turn to worse 

As time should pass away. 
And that vile root 
Which Satan put 

To win him from above, 



46 Many in One. 

Was this, that he, 
From woman free, 

Should ne'er know woman's love. 

But oh, what part 
Hath devils' art 

In those whom Heaven owns ? 
Though Satan sing 
Till Chaos ring, 

God chants for deeper tones. 
The wittiest wile 
And subtlest guile 

Ne'er reach the inmost core ; 
The mouse may know 
Shrewd tricks, I trow, 

But ever the cat knows more. 

And now this sage 
In ripening age 

Felt Cupid's wondrous power, 
And oft would dream, 
By hill or stream, 

Of love in bed or bower. 
Yet all alone 
He made his moan, 

Alone he led his life ; 
No maiden fair 
With him would pair, 

No woman be his wife. 

With every spell 
And charm from hell 

He tempted girls to guile, 
But every May 
Still said him Nay, 

No maid on him could smile. 



Many in One. 47 

With gems and gold 
Right many a fold 

He sought to buy their charms, 
But ever the curse 
Turned bad to worse : 

They died within his arms. 

Ah God, what is 
All wealth I vvis 

To him who liveth so ? 
Withouten love 
E'en heaven above 

I ween were bitter woe 
The fairest flower, 
In sun or shower, 

Is but a laidly weed, 
And so this man 
To Satan than 

Did turn him in his need. 

And the Great Lord 
Of ill accord 

With him did thus agree : 
' A leman fai 
Of beauty rare 

I straight will give to thee. 
But this be known: 
To her alone 

Shall all thy love be given ; 
IT ever thou change, 
And from her range, 

Thou ne'er shall rise to heaven.' 

Mark well, O Heart, 
What wondrous art 

Hath God .to guard our youth. 



48 Many in One. 

This sage but sought, 
By magic taught, 

To learn all wisdom's truth. 
Great risks they run 
Who've thus begun 

And walk where shadows reign, 
But ever God, 
With guiding rod, 

Will lead them back again. 

Now this fair maid 
To him purveyed 

Was but a demon fell, 
W T hom Satan meant 
With foul intent 

To lure him into hell. 
But soon she felt 
Her spirit melt, 

Her life with love was sore, 
And in her heart 
There burned a smart 

She never knew before. 

From early time 
The blackest crime 

Had ever been her play ; 
In blood and filth 
She found her health 

And passed the time away. 
Even Rome's proud Queen, 
Great Messaline, 

To her was but a child, 
Yet all her soul 
In sweet control 

Was soon by Love beguiled. 



Many in One. 49 



The task she had 
As Satan bade 

Was this to make her love 
In constant range 
To beauties strange, 

And still to others rove. 
Small wish had she 
That this should be, 

Or he from her should sever 
The man whose faith 
Thro' life and death 

She fain would keep for ever. 

With torture turned 
In pain she burned, 

No hope was ever there ; 
For all within 
Was death and sin, 

And hell was everywhere. 
Till love so deep 
Made angels weep, 

It proved a chastening rod ; 
Love's suffering 
To heaven takes wing : 

She dared to think of God. 

Then to her mind 
By pain refined 

A subtle thought came in, 
A fancy deep 
Her love to keep 

And cheat the power of sin. 
How this should be 
In time you'll see ; 

Twas all as Heaven bid. 
4 



50 Many in One. 

When prayer we bring 
Full many a thing 

Is oft from Satan hid. 

One day her love 
Had chanced to rove, 

And by the river strayed, 
When all away 
Mid forests grey 

He met a lovelier maid. 
Straight trapt and caught, 
He gave no thought 

Unto his leman fond, 
And lesser still 
His wanton will 

Upon the devil's bond. 

In evening breeze, 
Beneath the trees, 

They wandered long alone. 
In greenwood shade 
A tender maid 

Right easily is won. 
As the rushes shook 
In the bubbling brook 

His heart with passion thrilled, 
Each long gold hair 
Is subtle snare 

\Vhen souls with love are filled. 

With many a kiss 
Of burning bliss 

They part, and true love swear; 
But when next day 
He came that way 

He found another there. 



Many in One. 51 

A cream-white queen 
Of stately mien 

With eyes like midnight stars. 
For her in turn 
His passions burn 

And naught his longing bars. 

And thus for years, 
Withouten fears, 

He led a wanton life, 
And aye his will 
Did he fulfil 

With many a lovely wife. 
Full many a maid 
In greenwood shade, 

Full many a bird in bower, 
And ladies great 
Of high estate 

Had he for paramours. 

Time fleeth on, 
Youth soon is gone, 

Naught earthly may abide ; 
Life seemeth fast, 
But may not last, 

It runs as runs the tide. 
A shallop bark 
Ye oft may mark 

Well anchored firm and sound ; 
But lest it flies 
When waters rise 

'Tis by the anchor drowned. 

Thus to our sage 
In later age 

There came the broken bowl ; 



52 Many in One. 

His wasted youth 
And broken truth, 

And then his forfeit soul. 
No joy of wine 
Or concubine 

Could heal his growing sore ; 
Cold shadows vast 
Around him passed, 

And all was hell before. 



Thus oft alone 
He made his moan 

Mid rocks and forests grim, 
Till once when there, 
He was aware 

Of one who came to him, 
A lady bright, 
While rosy light 

Shone round as she did pass, 
Like diamonds on 
The thistle down, 

And glow-worms in the grass. 

' Sweet heart,' she cried, 
' Dost know thy bride ? 

Thy love of early years ? 
The first whom thou 
Did'st kiss, comes now 

To drive away thy fears.' 
'Ah, God,' said he, 
' How can that be, 

When I am all forlorn ? 
My soul is lost, 
My fate is crost, 

There's none so wretched born. 1 



Many in One. 53 



As when black clouds, 
Like fearful shrouds, 

Are blown by reckless wind, 
And glad we mark 
The fleeting dark 

With golden light behind ; 
Or nightmare grim, 
Which froze each limb, 

Is driven by loving kiss, 
E'en so the word 
Which next he heard 

Did bring him back to bliss. 

' Thou dream' st,' she spoke, 
' The bond is broke, 

And all thy soul is gone, 
Because that thou 
Did'st quit thy vow 

And leave me all alone. 
'Twas Satan's will ; 
But Heaven still 

Hath deeper love than he. 
In others' arms, 
By other charms, 

Thou ever wert with me. 

' As thou did'st range, 
So I did change 

To bodies young and fair, 
Of tawny hue, 
Or fresh and new, 

To white with golden hair. 
Was't Pernel, Joane, 
Or Josiane, 

Or Blanche, or Marinel, 



54 Many in One, 

Or Florens sweet, 
Or Marguerite, 

I was thy bonnibel. 

' Yes ; I, the Elf, 
Was still myself, 

Though wooed in many a form; 
And ever anon 
I still came on, 

And got thy kisses warm. 
Though thou did'st fly 
Like bird in sky, 

Yet faster still I flew, 
And only one 
Was thine alone, 

And thou wert ever true. 

' The work is done, 
Thy soul is won ; 

I too am saved from thrall, 
Since now my yoke 
In hell is broke, 

For true love conquers all. 
We may not rise 
To yonder skies 

For many an age, I see ; 
But thou art mine, 
And I am thine, 

And saved through love of thee. 

.Two eagles flew 
Through heaven blue, 

May well such wonder be. 
Two wild deer strayed 
Through greenwood shade, 

Two fish swam in the sea. 



Many in One. 55 



From life to life, 
Sweet dear and wife, 

I ween we often rove, 
But never part 
When once the heart 

Has found its own true love. 



PART III. 

MODERN. 

I WANDER in a wildering dream. 

What meaneth this, what meaneth all ? 

Lord Arion with his dolphin call ? 
And steam -boats on old sacred streams ? 
What is this mystery which I hate 1 

Are dirt and steam the life to live ? 
. Must I the inner truth up-give 
With gold-fire interpenetrate ? 

I stand beside a mud canal, 

I hear six costermongers cry : 
The iron road like snakes goes by, 

Yet the old sun shines over all. 

There is primaeval loveliness, 

And here is nothing of the kind; 
New wisdom drives the soul to wind, 

And all is one infernal mess. 

When Dante sat upon his stone 

In Florence, then the world was square. 

He knew just how to strike them there, 
But now who knows the age's tone ? 

'Twas better when in Sodom thou 

Saw'st God on this side, hell on that 
In an arena fair and flat ; 

But say where is the devil now ? 



Many in One. 57 

I know a man whose heart is whole, 
In the great city of New York ; 
He deals in stocks and meal and pork : 

May God have mercy on my soul ! 

Were he but Ser Porcone hight ! 

And did he but a ducat owe 

To sainted Fra Angelico 
For painting San Antonio bright ! 

How very easy 'twould have been 

To tell the legend of my friend, 

Illuminated to the end, 
As though 'twere drawn from Voragin f 

Yet will I tell it as I may, 

Although I be a traitor hight, 

Gone back on the Pre-Raphael light * 

Like the Great Lord of Paint Millais. 

This man I knew, whose name was Smith, 
By Fate's sharp scalpel lost his wife, 
The oyster of his hard shell life, 

And of his plant the very pith. 

He mourned her taken up to Heaven 

While wandering in his devious ways ; 
All life a wild and wilful maze, 

And then joined Circle Number Seven. 

Thou know'st not what that means ? Then list, 
Such circles are the only rings 
In which Romance at present springs, 

For Smith had turned Spiritualist. 

When next I met him, in his eye 

There was a sweet and winky light, 
His veiy hat and gloves seemed bright 

With adolescent ecstasy. 

* ' Gone back on' is an American term for being renegade. 



58 Many in One. 

I gently touched upon his woe, 
I took him softly by the hand, 
But with a motion like command 

He turned upon me and cried, ' Poh ! 

' Condole not with me on the dead ; 

They never die, they're always here ; 

They sip with us the foaming beer, 
They're at our table, and in bed.' 

' 'Tis true,' I said. ' Invisible, 

The dead are round us everywhere, 
But thinner than the thinnest air : ' 

Here Smith replied, derisible : 

' Such ignorance but makes me laugh, 
When yester evening I embraced, 
With arms tight locked around her waist, 

My dear departed better half.' 

' Great Heaven,' I cried, 'how can that be ? 
Does then the grave return its dead, 
And spirits from the portal sped, 

Hie backwards from Eternity ? ' 

But Smith replied in calmest tones : 
' This spirit of my darling wife, 
Who comes so oft to cheer my life, 

Had entered into Mary Jones. 

' You know her isn't she divine ? 
-God never made a prettier girl, 
A real peach a perfect pearl 
With cheeks which flash with Heaven's wine. 

' I only hope my wife will stay 

A long long time in Mary's form ; 
She says she finds it nice and warm ; 

Nor change about as is her way. 



Many in One, 59 

' For since she died, beyond a doubt 
She's been in mediums let me see ! 
Yes, altogether, twenty-three ! 

'Tis hard to follow her about. 

' Yet 'tis not all devoid of fun, 
If for an instant you reflect, 
That I must treat them with respect, 

For all the Twenty-Three are One ! 

' One spirit, though of different flesh; 

But what's the body ? Doctors say 

It changes atoms every day, 
Only the soul abideth fresh. 

And would you make of Earth a Heaven, 

Learn that the body is but dust; 

Think not of earthly laws or lust, 
And join our Circle Number Seven.' 



A THOUSAND YEARS AGO. 

THOU and I in spirit-land, 

A thousand years ago, 
Watched the waves beat on the strand, 

Ceaseless ebb and flow ; 
Vowed to love and ever love 

A thousand years ago. 

Thou and I in greenwood shade, 

Nine hundred years ago, 
Heard the wild dove in the glade 

Murmuring soft and low ; 
Vowed to love for evermore, 

Nine hundred years ago. 

Thou and I in yonder star, 

Eight hundred years ago, 
Saw strange forms of light afar 

In wild beauty glow ; 
All things change, but love endures 

Now as long ago ! 

Thou and I in Norman halls, 

Seven hundred years ago, 
Heard the warder on the walls 

Loud his trumpet blow, 
' Ton amors sera tojors,' 

Seven hundred years ago ! 



A Thousand Years Ago, 6 1 

Thou and I in Germany, 

Six hundred years ago 
Then I bound the red cross on : 

1 True love, I must go, 
But we part to meet again 

In the endless flow ! ' 

Thou and I in Syrian plains, 

Five hundred years ago, 
Felt the wild fire in our veins 

To a fever glow ! 
All things die, but love lives on 

Now as long ago ! 

Thou and I in shadow-land, 

Four hundred years ago, 
Saw strange flowers bloom on the strand, 

Heard strange breezes blow : 
In the ideal love is real, 

This alone I know. 

Thou and I in Italy, 

Three hundred years ago, 
Lived in faith and died for God, 

Felt the faggots glow : 
Ever new and ever true, 

Three hundred years ago. 

Thou and I on southern seas, 

Two hundred years ago, 
Felt the perfumed even-breeze, 
Spoke in Spanish by the trees, 

Had no care or woe : 
Life went dreamily in song 

Two hundred years ago. 



62 A Thousand Years Ago. 

Thou and I mid Northern snows, 
One hundred years ago, 

Led an iron, silent life, 
And were glad to flow 

Onwards into changing death, 
One hundred years ago. 

Thou and I but yesterday 
Met in Fashion's show, 

Love, did you remember me, 
Love of long ago ? 

Yes ; we keep the fond oath sworn 
A thousand years ago J 



LEGENDS OF THE BIRDS. 



THE WONDERFUL CROW. 



Erfordiensis quidam civis corvum in deliciis habuisse dicitur 
quern spiritum ejusmodi fuisse (i.e. spiritus aerf) quod sequitur 
evincit. Quum quidara die taciturn et tristem videret, ' quid 
tu,' inquit jocabundus, 'micorve ita masstus es ; quidve co- 
gitas ? Heic ex improvise ingeminat : Cogitavi dies antiques 
et antws ceternos in. mente habui. Statiraque ' ex oculis heri 
disparuit. 

' There was a certain citizen of Erfurth who had a pet crow which 
was one of these spirits of the air, as the following fully proves. 
For seeing him one day sad and silent, the master said in joke : 
" Well, my crow, why are you so sorrowful, and of what are 
you thinking ? " To whom the crow mournfully made answer 
from the seventy-seventh Psalm : " I have considered the days of 
old, the years of ancient times." Having said this he suddenly 
disappeared from the eyes of his lord.' HenriciKornmanni. 
Opera Curiosa Francofurti,A.M., A.D. 1694. 

IN the Thuringian Land of Song, 
Where nightingales sing all summer long, 
By the river Gesar Erfurth stands, 
A town well-known in many lands ; 
For there as all the histories tell 
Great Luther had a cloister cell. 
Enough of him no further word, 
My song is of a humbler bird 
Than the great Reformation swan, 
Whose notes were heard in freedom's dawn. 



66 



THE SWALLOW. 

WHEN Jesus hung upon the cross 
The birds, 'tis said, bewailed the loss 
Of Him who first to mortals taught, 
Guiding with love the life of all, 
And heeding e'en the sparrows' fall. 

But, as old Swedish legends say, 
Of all the birds upon that day, 
The swallow felt the deepest grief, 
And longed to give her Lord relief, 
And chirped when any near would come, 
' Hugswala swala svjal honom ! ' 
Meaning, as they who tell it deem, 
Oh, cool, oh, cool and comfort Him ! 

Oh soul, oh life, oh love ! Whene'er 
A sufferer in this world draws near, 
Wilt thou remember ere thou go 
How Jesus died in bitterest woe ? 
That thou in every brother's pain 
Might'st see thy Saviour live again. 
Then, drawing from the living stream, 
' Oh, cool, oh, cool and comfort Him ! ' 



6 7 



THE SWAN. 

WHO rides the rustling woods by night ? 

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon ; 
Blue flames his steel, his plume is white. 

And the brook is singing an Elfin tune. 

His road is running with the stream, 

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon ; 

Who wakes in love still walks in dream, 
And the brook is singing an Elfin time. 

Are those three swans white splashing there ? 

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon ; 
No swans are they, but women fair, 

And the brook is singing an Elfin tune. 

On a tree their swan-robes wave and fall, 

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon ; 
And the knight, if he would, may seize them all, 
While the brook is singing an Elfin tune. 

Who wears a swan-robe merrily, 

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon ; 
May sail at will o'er land and sea, 

And the brook is singing an Elfin tune. 

He rides and leaves them hanging there : 

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon ; 
' When you swim of your clothes take better care, 
There are some who would rob you, ladies fair ! ' 
And the brook is singing an Elfin tune. 



68 Legends of the Birds. 

He rides into the deadly fight ; 

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon 
Far o'er him fly three swans so white, 

And the brook is singing an Elfin tune. 

A lance has killed him in the fray : 

Sweet through the green leaves shines the moon ; 
Three swans with a soul have flown away ; 
They fade in the first red light of day : 

And the brook is singing an Elfin tune. 



6 9 



THE PEACOCK. 

WHY has the peacock hideous feet? 
Why is his voice no longer sweet ? 
He who in Eden ere the Fall 
Mid birds, in both, surpassed them all. 

To Paradise, the Arabs say, 
Satan could never find the way 
Until the peacock led him in : 
Pride takes in every sin ; 
Pride teaches Evil paths to gain 
Which he for years had sought in vain. 

The curse which pierced the Serpent through, 
'Tis said, fell on the peacock too. 
His voice, which once in Eden's vales 
Rang sweeter than the nightingale's, 
Grew harsh : the feet, which led the way 
Of him who led the world astray, 
Became the claws which now he wears, 
Such as the Hebrew demon bears. 

Such is the story, plain to all, 

Which teaches, Pride must have a fall . 



THE EAGLE. 

WHO is ruler of the eagles, 

Father of the feathered kings ? 

In the dark and lonely Norland 

There the giant spreads his wings : 

Giant bird and god Hrosvelgar ; 
As the Iceland poet sings. 

When he flaps his wings, a tempest 
Howling o'er the ocean flies, 

From his eyes the lightning flashes, 
And he makes the whirlwind rise : 

So he calls his eagle-children, 

And they answer him with cries. 

' He who clears away corruption, ' 

Is the meaning of his name ; 
Storm-winds sweep away infection, 

Wrath and strength cure many a shame. 
Eagles also have their mission : 

Every bird should not be tame ! 



THE OWL. 

WHEN Jesus walked in Jewry, then 
He hungered oft like other men ; 
And quaint old monkish legends say 
That in a baker's shop one day 
He asked for food. About to bake, 
The mistress took a generous cake, 
And said : ' All this I mean for thee ; 
Wait, Lord, until it ready be ! ' 
1 It is too much ! ' her daughter cried, 
And put one half the gift aside 
W r ith angry air. He nothing said, 
But by the fire laid down the bread, 
When, lo ! as when a blossom blows, 
To a vast loaf the manchet rose ! 
In angry wonder standing by, 
The girl sent forth a wild, rude cry, 
And feathering fast into a fowl, 
Flew to the woods a wailing owl ! 

Each voice which in the desert cries 
Teaches a lesson to the wise. 
Experience, the mistress stern, 
In legends gives us truth to learn, 
And emblemed in the owl we see 
That all men wise and kind should be. 



Legends of the Birds. 

Thus monks in moralizing strain 
Revived Minerva's bird again, 
Adding a kindlier Christian sense 
To the symbol of intelligence, 
Making it Learning's quaintest type 
Humanity and wisdom ripe. 



73 



TO YOU. 



WHEN day's red light is lost in night 

As waking thoughts are lost in dreams, 
And fancies flit in wanton flight 

As fire-flies glisten o'er the streams, 
And all the perfumes of the flowers 

Have turned to nectar all the air, 
What would you do in those sweet hours- 

What would you do if / were there ? 

In greenwood shade 'neath starry shine, 

When singing to the midnight breeze, 
You breathe the scent-life of the pine 

And seek wild coverts 'mid the trees ; 
Wild heart, whose life is all in night ! 

Strange dreamer in the leafy lair, 
What would you far from others' sight ! 

What -would you do if / were there ? 

Full was the moon and high the sea 

In hours when you and I were bom ; 
Blood red the sky gleamed wondrously 

Upon us in the early morn 
It bodes great hearts and bloody death ; 

But what for that would either care 
If when we drew the parting breath 

'Twere hand in hand together there ? 



74 To You. 

I see the full moon overhead, 

I hear the rustle of the pines ; 
I see thee live who once wast dead, 

I hear thee singing by the vines : 
"Tis /myself for we are one, 

One thought alone and everywhere, 
One Night, one Day one Self, one Sun, 

For we are All for ever there. 

II. 

Although I know all earthly forms 

Must meet with earth's decay, 
I cannot think thy beauty's life 

Will ever pass away. 
When meaner shapes of loveliness 

Return with every rain, 
Can I believe that thou wilt fade, 

And never come again ? 

When summer warms the forest fair 

Its flowers again will blow, 
When winter chills again the air 

Again we'll see the snow : 
The brook will flash through emerald grass, 

The star from heaven high 
If lesser beauty cannot pass, 
. Can thine, sweet darling, die? 

To think the love I feel for thee 

Is love for earth alone, 
That were a pain no joy on earth 

Could e'er on earth atone. 
The Lord who gave thee to my heart 

Wields no such torturing rod. 
Sweet heart, because I live in thee, 

I do believe in God. 



To You. 75 

Thou dearest of all living things, 

Thou sunshine in my soul, 
In thee a light of life upsprings 

Beyond all life's control. 
Full many a dungeon gets its light 

From Heaven through narrow bars ; 
To me there came an angel bright ; 

I thought no more of stars. 

III. 

Whene'er thou movest, in every part 

There waves a flowing rhyme ; 
The life of all the loveliest art 

Which lived in olden time. 
And if that art had ever been 

What long it sought to be, 
Then men long since in Art had seen 

What still I find in thee. 

Whene'er I gaze into thine eyes 

And deep love holds me dumb, 
I feel the Past within me rise 

Towards fairer dreams to come. 
Then to the Present I am wed, 

The Present bears me on ; 
Stars shine the brightest, it is said, 

'Twixt darkness and the dawn. 

Whene'er thy fingers sweep the chords, 

Whatever thou hast played, 
My heart sweet-suffering seeks the words, 

Those words which ne'er were made. 
And though full many a golden phrase 

In many a tongue may sound, 
And poets rise to angel lays, 

Those words will ne'er be found. 



76 To You. 

The Past is in thy grace, sweetheart, 

The Present in thine eyes, 
But in thy voice the Future thrills 

With all its harmonies. 
Thou showest God in calm or mirth, 

There is a promise given 
In thy deep eyes, that love on earth 

Means endless joy in Heaven. 



TO RISE WITH THEE !' 

THEY said it to me until I believed, 

And then I said it sadly to myself ; 

' The yearning for the Beautiful is vain ; 

Art is a bauble, Pride a stumbling-block, 

And your brave, Noble Soul, a silly dupe, 

While all must yield to selfish Common Sense, 

To Common Sense and Gold. In this believe ! 

And in my need and grievous loneliness, 

Amid the dust and turmoil of the land, 

I did believe ; when, lo ! I heard a voice 

As of youth singing on the distant hills, 

And then there came the gleam of glorious eyes, 

The tramp of steeds, the rush of autumn winds, 

And memories of those ideal friends 

Dreamed in the days of hope, and last of all 

The pale, proud, glorious face of their great Queen, 

Like Lucifer's when reconciled to God, 

Too grand for woman, yet too sweet for man, 

Nobler from knowledge better from the fall, 

And then I wept and turned to Truth again. 

The past is but a mouldering shroud, 
The future all a shimmering cloud ; 
But thy proud glance, oh ! queenly star 
Turns not to phantoms faint and far. 



7 8 'To Rise with Thee! 1 

Thou lov'st to hear the North Wind's song, 
To see the torrent foam along. 
Oh ! could I dart as wild and free 
For ever on, proud heart, with thee ! 

The mists of dawn drive fast and far, 

And dimmer grows the morning-star ; 

I see the day's red life arise, 

Reflected hack from thy deep eyes ; 

All moves and lives 'mid wakening sounds, 

And glad with life thy brave heart bounds ; 

Thou gallant, daring heart, how free 

That heart must bound which mates with thee ! 

Souls love ! What though it be not given 
To us to dart like sprites through heaven, 
Or float in torrent-whirls along 
Forgetting life in one wild song, 
Still we may scorn the slavish fears 
Which crush the world to doubts and tears, 
And they who win this strength rise free 
With falcon glance o'er heaven and sea. 

And thou hast won it. Strength by strength 
Thou'st conquered all the spell at length. 
Henceforth no coward fear can chill, 
No lies benumb the joyous will, 
And all things unconfmed and free 
Sing one great song of life to thee. 

And who is she who woke the song ? 
Oh friend, look forth ! In every throng 
Thou seest some eye which proudly gleams 
As though awaked from earth's low dreams, 



' To Rise with Thee /' 79 

Some yearning glance in which is seen 
What fain would be what might have been. 
A glance which, when I feel and see, 
My heart burns wild ' to rise with thee.' 



So 



ALMA VENUS. 



THERE were two Christians drowning in a storm, 
And unto them came Venus in her light, 
Who offered to the first a helping hand : 
But he preferred to drown, too pious far 
To owe his life to her. Then to the next 
She turned in beauty, and he took her hand. 
When safe upon the shore he kneeling cried : 
' I thank thee as the minister of God, 
Fair Queen of Loveliness and Life and Love. 
Since He hath chosen thee to save my life 
Shall I pass judgment on His ways and means ? ' 
The first who drowned went unto Heaven's gate, 
And knocked, and there could hardly enter in, 
So close St Peter held the leaf the next 
Found it wide open with a welcome cry. 
God is in all things, and he works through all. 



Si 



THE ORIGIN OF WHEAT. 

BLESSED are they whose hearts and heads are full 
Of golden legends of the olden time, 
What is well tried need not be tried again. 

For they shall walk through life as in a dream, 
And rocks and grass and grain shall all be charmed. 
Were bird- songs needless, birds would never sing. 

Know'st thou the story how the bearded wheat, 
Man's friendliest food, came unto earth with him ? 
Who knows what destiny runs by his own ? 

When Adam fell with Eve from Eden's bowers 
No spirit of the flowers would go to earth. 
Those who have fallen keep no rising friends. 

Only the wheat, which hitherto was held 

Of little worth, went to the world with them. 

Who knows what bough may save a drowning man ? 

Bread is the staff of life, and wheat the type ; 
As man is buried, so the wheat is sown. 
The ancient sacrament is bread and wine. 

Think of all this when next you sow or reap, 
Or gather into barns the golden grain. 
No work was ever hindered yet by song. 
6 



82 



SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. 



"OUT from the North, where ice and snow 

Hold one eternal carnival, 
Whirling with tempests as they blow, 
While deadly frost is over all, 
Just newly born, 
Unstained, unworn 
With light for life-blood fast I fly ; 
Lord of the hours 
With sun or showers, 
King of the Year lo ! here am I ! 

And I am of your lives a part, 

Your very selves remember well ! 
I beat in every bounding heart, 

And grow in every flower and shell. 
The roaring sea 
Is blue with me ; 

Each oak-ring with its circled rhyme 
Repeating what 
The last year taught, 
All chronicle my round of time. 

The mighty mountains know my hand, 
The tides all count me hurrying on ; 

New born, new dead, in every land ; 
Record me coming show me gone ; 



Song of the New Year. 83 

The rocks and graves, 

The flowers and waves, 
The lonely plains, where all is drear, 

With ruins old 

And loves untold, 
All tell the story of the year. 

The silent forms that flit around 

Man's daily doings, out and in : 
Unborn to sight, unkin to sound, 
Free from the shade of sense or sin ; 
To them each hour 
An awful power 

More than to mortal man I seem. 
They count my bounds, 
And know the rounds 
Scarce glimmering in a Plato's dream. 

The lovely face with golden hair 

Which seemed to thee a world divine ; 
The graceful arms the all too fair, 
I swear by truth shall all be thine ! 
What doth appear 
On earth most dear 
Is all a promise made below, 
When it hath slept 
It will be kept 
In the fair rose-life yet to blow. 

All this I mark all this I am, 
I die, but I shall live again ; 
I rise in every choral psalm, 
I vanish with the ripened grain, 
Then though we die 
Sing loud fill high ! 



SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. 



"OUT from the North, where ice and snow 

Hold one eternal carnival, 
Whirling with tempests as they blow, 
While deadly frost is over all, 
Just newly born, 
Unstained, unworn 
With light for life-blood fast I fly ; 
Lord of the hours 
With sun or showers, 
King of the Year lo ! here am I ! 

And I am of your lives a part, 

Your very selves remember well ! 
I beat in every bounding heart, 

And grow in every flower and shell. 
The roaring sea 
Is blue with me ; 

Each oak-ring with its circled rhyme 
Repeating what 
The last year taught, 
All chronicle my round of time. 

The mighty mountains know my hand, 
The tides all count me hurrying on ; 

New born, new dead, in every land ; 
Record me coming show me gone ; 



Song of the New Year. 83 

The rocks and graves, 

The flowers and waves, 
The lonely plains, where all is drear, 

With ruins old 

And loves untold, 
All tell the story of the year. 

The silent forms that flit around 

Man's daily doings, out and in : 
Unborn to sight, unkin to sound, 
Free from the shade of sense or sin ; 
To them each hour 
An awful power 

More than to mortal man I seem. 
They count my bounds, 
And know the rounds 
Scarce glimmering in a Plato's dream. 

The lovely face with golden hair 

Which seemed to thee a world divine ; 
The graceful arms the all too fair, 
I swear by truth shall all be thine ! 
What doth appear 
On earth most dear 
Is all a promise made below, 
When it hath slept 
It will be kept 
In the fair rose-life yet to blow. 

All this I mark all this I am, 
I die, but I shall live again ; 
I rise in every choral psalm, 
I vanish with the ripened grain, 
Then though we die 
Sing loud fill high ! 



84 Song of the New Year. 

And be your laughter brave and long ! 

The year's great power 

Is in each hour ; 
All time is but a New Year song ! 



IN THE NORTH. 



THE moonlight shines upon the waves 

All bending in the wind ; 
The sail-boat runs before them both, 

But leaves her foam behind. 

The porpoise takes the tide to sea, 

The herring to the sand ; 
The seagull fishes far away, 

But rests at night on land. 

And if you say 'tis time to go, 

I'm off to sea once more ; 
But if your eyes should tell me ' No,' 

I'll stay to-night on shore. 

The tide runs up, the tide runs down, 
The waves they rise and fall ; 

But with a man whose mind is set 
It's once and once for all. 



86 



IN THE SOUTH. 



HEY up the river, 

And ho ! down the bay ! 
Trees on the black rock, 

And grass on the grey. 
Send the boat closer in, 

Up to the shore ; 
There she is standing, 
. Just holding the door ! 
Now is the time 

If you've something to say 
Hey up the river, 

And ho ! down the bay ! 

Something is coming, 

I know by her smile ; 
' Let me go down with yoxi, 

Only a mile ? ' 
' Plenty of room 

For a dozen like you : 
More to the forward, 

And trim the canoe ! 
Now we are off again, 

Well, under weigh ; 
Hey up the river, 

And ho ! down the bay ! ' 



In the South. 87 

Out of the deep water 

Into the shoal, 
Lay down the paddle, 

And take up the pole ! 
Pull by the bushes ! 

Look out for the root ! 
Into the current, 

And over the shoot ! 
' Keep on another mile ? ' 

' Just as you say ! ' 
Hey up the river, 

And ho ! down the bay ! 

' When the moon rises, 

We'll go by her light.' 
Still she kept on with him 

All through the night : 
Two miles, and three miles, 

And five milg s, and ten : 
Back to the river home 

Never again. 
Long was the journey, 

But short seemed the way ; 
Hey up the river, 

And ho ! down the bay ! 

Elk River, Braxton County, West Virginia, 
May 20, 1866. 



THE DREAM 



' Life's sweetest dreams 
Are foam on streams.' 

AN ancient dream has wandered 

Through earth since the earliest time, 
And he o'er whom it sweepeth 
Grows stern or it may be weepeth, 
Like one who suffers with longing 
For a sweet yet terrible crime. 

It hath but a single picture : 

A fountain which leaps and foams, 
And by it a woman sits yearning, 
Starting 'mid reveries burning 
For a love which never comes. 

The fountain leaps up in passion, 
Darts out in a gleaming pain j 
And the longing of him who dreameth, 
And the passion of her who seemeth, 
Fall back into foam again. 



8 9 



THE WORLD AND THE WORLD. 



IF all the world must see the world 
As the world the world hath seen, 

Then it were better for the world , 
That the world had never been. 

Yet if the world could see the world 
As the world the world might see, 

Then a happier world than this old world 
Perhaps could never be. 

Oh, world that lives upon the world ! 

You travel far too slow ! 
Oh world ! green grave of all the world, 

H'ow wondrous swift you go. 



BUZZ! 

' My name.' quoth the man, ' is Fine Ear ; I can hear all the 
noises in the world, and all that is spoken therein.' Grimms 
Fairy Tales. 

I HEARD the steeples pouring forth 

Their storm-bells' roaring din, 
And the songs of merry companies 

As they sat so snug within ; 
The measured tread of armies proud, 

The dash of the restless sea, 
' And it's buzz ! ' quoth the world, as on she whirled ; 

And away with the world went we. 

I heard a martyr at the stake 

Groan out, ' In Domino ! ' 
1 heard five infants squall at night, 

While cats yelled out below ; 
I heard a preacher pounding texts 

To a godly companie, 
' And it's buzz ! ' quoth the world, as on she whirled ; 

And away with the world went we. 

I heard a dainty cavalier 

Sing to his ladye love, 
While fountains in the moon-rays plashed, 

And the lady sighed above j 



Buzz! 91 

And I heard the click of cold white dice 

With curses pealing free, 
' And it's buzz ! ' quoth the world, as on she whirled, 

And away with the world went we. 

I heard a swan's sweet dying song, 

I heard the tempest's breath ; 
I heard a lady thrash her lord 

(And she thrashed him half to death) ; 
I heard a scholar turning leaves ; 

The scream of an angry flea. 
' And its buzz ! ' quoth the world, as on she whirled ; 

And away with the world went we. 

Yes music, thunder, growls, and groans, 

With shouts and shots in store, 
\Vhile powder-mills exploded fast 

But I could- bear no more. 
I stopped my ears I howled a prayer, 

And swooned in agony, 
' And it's buzz ! ' quoth the world, as on she whirled ; 

And away with the world went we. 



THE ROMAN RING. 

I SAW you first upon a gem set in a Roman ring, 
And I burned for it with longing as for a living thing. 
The Greek who sees his heart's own love sold in a 

Turkish mart 
Is not more grieved to think his purse is smaller than 

his heart, 

Than I with many wishes and ducats very few 
Was grieved to leave that lovely face behind me with 

the Jew. 

Again I met you ripening and kindling into life 

Beneath a skilful painter's brush as Vulcan's lovely 
wife, 

From the foam and flood of colour, out-blushing 
lusciously, 

As Venus Aphrodite rose from the summer sea ; 

And I waited with the patience of one whom fate en 
twines, 

And sees a new strange destiny around him spin its 
lines. 

With doubting curiosity I watched the painter's face, 
Yet earnestly and half in fear, to see if I could trace 
A knowledge of the secret hope awaking with his art, 
And how each crimson pencil-touch made blood leap 

in my heart. 
In vain for as t he painted on, the likeness passed 

away, 
And the rosy morning ended in a grim and cloudy day. 



The Roman Ring. 93 

I meet you now in mortal form a lovely living thing, 

Still fairer than the vanished sketch, as that surpassed 
the ring, 

And with new light the solemn text comes often to 
my mind, 

That he who seeks right earnestly at last shall surely 
find. 

Let others swear they find you fair and still fresh in 
cense bring : 

They did not know you, love, of old, upon the Ro 
man ring. 



94 



THE FALL OF THE TREES. 

I HAVE been in the wild green wilderness, 

A wood of many ages, leagues away 

From human home, when a tremendous storm 

Was giving its long warning in those signs 

Which every woodsman knows. We sat in peace 

In the canoe dug from a single tree, 

Well in the water and far out from shore, 

For none at such a time will trust to trees, 

Since lightning strikes them when they shelter men ; 

And as we sat and watched the wide-spread clouds, 

I heard from time to time, long miles away, 

Deep dull and thundering sounds, like cannon fired 

In a ravine, which makes them heavier 

And yet prolongs the roar. An awful sound 

To one who knew that no artillery 

Was in those lonely dales, and that no flash 

Had shot as yet from heaven. It was the noise 

Of ancient trees falling while all was still 

Before the storm, in the long interval 

Between the gathering clouds and that light breeze 

Which Germans call the Wind's bride. At such time 

The oldest trees go down, no one knows why, 

But well I know from wood-experience 

That 'tis before the storm they mostly fall, 

And not while wind and rain are terrible. 

'Tis wonderful, and seen ere every storm : 

Our great old statesmen died before the war. 



95 



THELEME. 



' Give me leave,' said Friar John, ' to found an abbey after 
my own fancy." And Garagantua, well pleased, offered him all 
the country of Thelemg. Rabelais, Book i. C. Ivii. 

I SAT one night on a palace step 

Wrapped up in a mantle thin, 
And I gazed with a smile on the world without, 

With a growl at my world within. 
Till I heard the merry voices ring 

Of a lordly companie, 
And straight to myself I began to sing : 

' It is there I ought to be.' 

And long I gazed through a lattice raised, 

Which looked from the old grey wall, 
And my glance went in with the evening breeze, 

And ran o'er the revellers all. 
And I said : ' If they saw me 'twould cool their mirth 

Far more than this wild breeze free ; 
But a merrier party was ne'er on earth, 

And among them I ought to be." 

And, oh, but they all were beautiful, 

Fairer than fairy dreams, 
And their words were sweet as the wind-harp's tone 

When it sings o'er summer streams ; 



96 . Theleme. 

And they pledged each other with noble mien, 
' True heart, with my life to thee ! ' 

1 Alack ! ' quoth I, ' but my soul is dry, 
And among them I fain would be.' 

And the gentlemen were noble souls, 

Good fellows both sain and sound : 
I had not deemed that a band like this 

Could over the world be found ; 
And they spoke of brave and beautiful things, 

Of all that was dear to me ; 
So I thought, ' Perhaps they \vould.like me well 

If among them I once might be ! ' 

And lovely were the ladies too 

Who sat in the lighted hall, 
And one there was, oh, dream of life ! 

The loveliest of them all ; 
She sat alone by an empty chair, 

The Queen of the feast was she ; 
And I said to myself, ' By that lady fair 

I certainly ought to be ! ' 

And aloud she spoke : ' We have waited long 

For one who in fear and doubt 
Looks wistfully into our Hall of Song, 

As he sits on the steps without ; 
I have sung to him long in silent dreams, 

I have led him o'er land and sea : 
Go, welcome him in as his rank beseems, 

And give him a place by me ! ' 

They opened the door, yet I shrunk with shame 

As I sat in my mantle thin, 
But they haled me out with a joyous shout, 

And merrily led me in, 



Theleme. 97 

And gave me a place by my bright-haired love 

As she wept with joy and glee, 
So I said to myself: ' By the stars above, 

I am just where I ought to be ! ' 

Farewell to thee, life of joy and grief ! 

Farewell to thee, care and pain ! 
Farewell, thou cruel and selfish world, 

For I never will know thee again ! 
I live in a land where good fellows abound, 

In Theleme by the sea ; 
They may long for a happier life that will, 

I am just where I ought to be. 



THE RIDDLER. 

THERE went a rider on a roan, 

By rock and hill and all alone, 

And asked of men these questions three : 

' Who may the greatest miller be ? 

' What baker baked ere Adam's birth ? 

' And what .washer washes the most on earth 

And still the rider went his way 
By cities old and castles gray, 
In morning red or moonlight dim, 
Unto the sea where ships do swim ; 
And yet no man could answer him. 

He reined his horse upon the sand : 

' There is no lord in any land 

Can answer right my questions three : 

Old fisher sitting by the sea, 

Can'st tell me where those craftsmen be ? ' 

Then spoke the fisher of the mere : 
' The earth is dark, the water clear, 
And where the sea against the land 
Is grinding rocks and shells to Sand, 
I see the greatest miller's hand. 



The Riddler. 99 

' And the baker who baked ere the morn 
When Adam was in Eden born, 
Is Heat, that God made long before, 
Which dries the sand upon the shore, 
And hardens it to rock once more. 

' And the water falling night and day 

Is the washer, washing all away ; 

All melts in time before the rain, 

The mountain sinks into the plain : 

So the great world comes and goes again.' 

' Thou, Silver Beard, hast spoken well, 
With wisdom most commendable ; 
So bind thee with this golden band ! ' 
The light was red upon the strand, 
The rider's road lay dark in-land. 



MAIDEN'S LOVE. 

THE fleetest horse in all the land, 

So swift you cannot ride 
But that his shadow on the sand 

Will follow by your side. 
And if your heart with love be sore 

For one who feels your pain, 
You cannot love that maiden more 

Than she will love again. 

So red a rosebud never blew 
When opened by the wind, 

But that one more as bright of hue 
By seeking you may find. 

And all that wooing lips e'er swore 
Of greater truth is vain ; 

You cannot love a maiden more 

- Than she will love again. 

The fairest fish upon the line 

So matchless may not be, 
But that some other fish as fine 

Is swimming in the sea. 
And love as man ne'er loved before, 

This truth will still be plain ; 
You cannot love a maiden more 

Than she will love again. 



Maiden's Love. lOi 

The horse will live while grass is free, 

The rose while wet with dew, 
The fish while swimming in the sea, 

And love while love is true. 
While light is in the sun above, 

And flowers are on the plain, 
So long as you are true to love, 

She'll love you back again. 



THE FOUNTAIN FAY. 

YE gentles all who love your life 
Beware, beware the water wife ! 

She singeth soft, she singeth low ; 

Her lute is the mountain-streamlet's flow ; 

Her harp the pine-wood's mournful moan ; 
She sits in the forest and sings alone, 

And her songs like rippling rivers roll ; 
Beware, beware ere they drown thy soul ! 

Ride where you may, ride where you will, 
The Fountain Fay may meet you still. 



He rode alone in the silent night, 

She swam like a star to his left and right. 

He rode by the linden blooming fair, 

The wood-bird sung : ' Oh, boy, beware ! ' 

He came to the fountain in the wood ; 
The Fay in her beauty before him stood. 

In the starlight, silver-sparkling glance 
Her sisters swam in the Elfin dance. 

' Alight, young minstrel, brave and gay, 
And sing us thy sweetest, strangest lay !' 

He tuned his lute, and the tinkling sounds 
Flitted like birds through the greenwood bounds. 



The Fountain Fay. 103 

He sang so sweet he sang so long, 
The flower-buds opened to hear his song. 

He sang so gently of maiden love, 

He ripened the fruit on the boughs above. 

' Far in the East is a rosy light. 

What shall he have for his song this night ? ' 

' I ask no more for lute and lay, 

Than a kiss from the lips of the Fountain Fay ! ' 

She kissed him once to the minstrel's sight 
The world seemed melting in golden light. 

Once more, and his soul to the land of the fay 
In beauty and music seemed floating away. 

As she kissed him again the spirit had fled : 
He lay in the moon-rays cold and dead. 

But far from above a whisper fell : 

' Green Earth, with thy valleys and lakes farewell ! ' 



Ye who know not the life of poesy, 
Of beauty, romance, and fantasie ! 

And who think there can be ' no world like this,' 
Beware of the Fairy beware her kiss. ' 



io 4 



A SPARK IN THE ASHES. 



I WENT to a gay reception 

Last winter in the West, 
As the beau of the belle of the season, 

Quite out of the season dressed. 
For they told her no queen in story 

Had a bust so blanche and fair ; 
And, like Samson, her strength and glory 

Was all in her wondrous hair. 

But I did not think of her tresses, 

For directly vis-a-vis, 
A dame in the simplest of dresses 

Was flashing her eyes at me. 

Eternal eyes of wonder ! 

How gloriously they rolled, 
Like two black storm-lakes under 

An autumn forest of gold. 
For as Lilith's in her splendour 

Like an aureole gleamed her head, 
And a magic, strange yet tender, 

Seemed winding in every thread. 
Wavy and dreamy in motion 

I felt the old memory flow : 
We had met by the sun-gold ocean 

A thousand years ago ! 



A Spark in the Ashes, 

And the beaux and the belles with their graces, 
Where were they on the ancient shore ? 

Oh, the sea had blown froth in our faces 
A thousand years before. 

Sea-foam and weed and clam-shells 
Which slid in the waves' long rolls ! 

Gay gentlemen beautiful damsels ! 

Why, how did you come by those souls ? 



io6 



THE TREES OF LIFE. 



THE city belles in Autumn 
Their gayest garments don - r 

In Autumn, too, the forests 
Put brighter vesture on. 

At night in snowy linen 
The ladies sink to sleep ; 

In winter 'neath the snow-drifts 
The trees seem slumbering deep. 

Oh ! loves and leaves among you 
A man must walk with care ; 

How soon we're lost in forests ! 
How soon 'mong ladies fair ! 



THE TWO FRIENDS. 



I HAVE two friends two glorious friends two 

better could not be, 
And every night when midnight tolls they meet to 

laugh with me. 

The first was shot by Carlist thieves ten years ago 

in Spain. 
The second drowned near Alicante while I alive 

remain. 

I love to see their dim white forms come floating 

through the night, 
And grieve to see them fade away in early morning 

light. 

The first with gnomes in the Under Land is leading a 

lordly life, 
The second has married a mer-maiden, a beautiful 

water-wife. 

And since I have friends in the Earth and Sea with 

a few, I trust, on high, 
'Tis a matter of small account to me the way that I 

may die. 

For whether I sink in the foaming flood, or swing on 

the triple tree, 
Or die in my bed, as a Christian should, is all the 

same to me. 



io8 



IN THE OLD TIME. 



WHAT is a Kiss ? pray tell't to Mee. 

A daring daintie Fantasie : 

A Brace of Birdes whych chirpe, ' wee would ! 

And pyping answer : ' iff wee could ! ' 

What is a Kiss ? when Evenyng falls 
In russett Folds are Heaven's Walls, 
Itt is a blissed Prophesye, 
That Love wyll live, tho' Day may dye. 

What is a Kiss ? when Mornyng's Leme 
Casts Verjuice redd in Heaven's whyte Creme, 
Itt is a pretie, ringing Knell, 
That cryes to Love ' Swete, fare ye wel ! ' 

What is a Kiss ? Alacke ! at worst, 
A single Dropp to quenche a Thirst, 
Tho' oft it prooves in happie Hour, 
The first swete Dropp of one long Showre. 



109 



BRAVE HEART. 

AFAR in the forest, 

Or deep in the town ; 
'Where the sun rays come up, 

Or the wild waves go down ; 
'Mid armies triumphant, 

In deserts alone, 
While morning red gleameth, 

Brave Heart holds his own. 

When true love sings sweetly, 

And white arms hold fast, 
Or when love goes whistling 

Away with the blast ; 
In kisses and music, 

By hatred's grim tone, 
In rags or in ermine, 

Brave Heart holds his own. 

When hunter's horn soundeth 

O'er river and rocks 
Each soul with joy boundeth, 

In chasing the fox ; 
And though the fox 'scape them 

Still pleasure they've known, 
So through this world's hunting 

Brave Heart holds his own. 



Brave Heart. 

Love, fame, and a fortune 

May come or may go ; 
Hate, Vengeance, and Murder, 

With all the mad show : 
But 'mid joys he hath garnered 

Or griefs he hath sown, 
O'er his feelings and sorrows 

Brave Heart holds his own. 

As the wild eagle saileth 

O'er sunshine and cloud, 
As the dead nothing heareth 

Far down in his shroud, 
As the tall man when bearded 

Hath child-dreams outgrown, 
So through all this world's wearing 

Brave Heart holds his own. 



Ill 



GENTLE HEART. 

' Vaut mieux 6tre gentil que beau.' Romance de Griselidh. 

I KNOW that Beauty's power is great 

To lead to love the heedless mind ; 
That brilliant eyes may flit like stars, 

Yet leave an influence behind ; 
That lips, like ruby amulets, 

Oft hold unwilling souls in thrall ; 
Their spells are numberless and yet 

A gentle heart is worth them all. 

I know that Wit can lightly win 

What earthly charms have never won ; 
That Beauty fades before her light 

As moonlight pales before the sun ; 
That words enchant like elfin darts 

Although invisibly they fall, 
And yet though thousands own their might 

A gentle heart is worth them all. 

I know that Wealth can purchase Love : 

The best on earth are bought with gold; 
That Power needs but to nod his head 

To win a myriad to his fold. 
All these in turn must cling to Rank, 

Like grape-vines to the sunny wall : 
The world is swayed by them, and yet 

A gentle heart is worth them all. 



Gentle Heart. 

Sweet Dames, remember when ye strive 

To hold a lover in your thrall, 
Wit, Beauty, Wealth, and Power may aLl 

A gentle heart is worth them all. 



THE BRIDGE AND THE BROOK. 



HE casts his arms around her, 
But ever finds her gone ; 

The love-span hath not bound her, 
And still the brook runs on. 

' Fair Sun ! be thou, my dearest ! ' 
She rose, his love to gain, 

In dreamy, misty beauty, 
But sunk in storm and rain. 

Leave not for one above thee 
Another tried for years : 

A few brief hours he'll love thee, 
Then cast thee back in tears. 



114 



MINE OWN. 

AND oh, the longing, burning eyes ! 

And oh, the gleaming hair 
Which waves around me, night and day, 

O'er chamber, hall, and stair ! 

And oh, the step, half dreamt, half heard ! 

And oh, the laughter low ! 
And memories of merriment 

Which faded long ago ! 

Oh, art thou Sylph or truly Self 

Or either at thy choice ? 
Oh, speak in breeze or beating heart, 

But let me hear thy voice. 

' Oh, some do call me Laughter, love ; 

And some do call me Sin : ' 
' And they may call thee what they will 

So I thy love may win. 

' And some do call me Wantonness, 
And some do call me Wine : ' 

' Oh, they might call thee what they would 
If thou wert only mine ! ' 



A fine Own. 115 

' And some do call me Sorrow, love, 

And some do call me Tears, 
When sighing for the golden hours 

Of love in early years. 

' And some do call me Gentle Heart, 

And some Forgetfulness : ' 
' And if thou com'st as one or all, 

Thou comest but to bless ! ' 

' And some do call me Life, sweetheart, 

And some do call me Death ; 
And he to whom the two are one 

Has won my heart and faith.' 

She twined her white arms round his neck : 

The tears fell down like rain. 
' And if I live or if I die, 

We'll never part again.' 



u6 



WOMAN'S WILL. 

Con la muger y el dinero 
No te buries, companero. 

MANY a charm is round thee, 

Many a spell hath bound thee, 
Though awhile I give thee leave to range. 

Soon, thy wild flight over, 

Soon, no more a rover, 
Back thou'lt fly and never dare to change. 

If thou wilt, go flutter 

Here and there, to utter 
Burning words to all with wanton will ; 

But thou canst not leave me, 

No nor once deceive me ; 
And in chains I hold thee captive still. 

To some love enchanting, 

Every favour granting, 
Go and sigh I bid thee ! 'tis in vain ; 

For no woman clever 

Lost a lover ever 
When she willed to hold him in her chain. 

She who's sure of winning, 

When the game's beginning 
Throws away of course a stake or two ; 

But when higher aiming, 

Bent on bolder gaming 
Back they come, and then she holds them true. 



PORTRAITS. 



LOUISE IN NORMANDY. 

WE walked where storks and swallows fly, 
Louise ! Louise ! 
All on the castle-terrace high, 
We saw the village in the sun, 
We saw the sparkling waters run ; 
Birds fluttering, hearts a-beating. 

Around your waist I twined my arm, 

Louise ! Louise ! 

I felt your life throb wild and warm ; 
But Love soon hushed the first alarm : 
Birds fluttering, hearts a-beating. 

We saw the peasants churchward climb, 

Louise ! Louise ! 

We heard the bells ring slow in chime, 
And as they rung we kissed in time : 
Birds fluttering, hearts a-beating. 

Too slow the church-bells' melody ! 

Louise ! Louise ! 

Yes ; much too slow for you and me, 

High over all where none could see : 

Birds fluttering, hearts a-beating. 



if8 



EVA. 



I'VE seen bright eyes like mountain lakes, 

Reflecting heaven's blue ; 
And some like black volcano-gulfs, 

With wildfire flashing through ; 

But thine are like the eternal skies, 

Which draw the soul afar . 
Their every glance a meteor, 

And every thought a star. 

Some lips when robbed seem cherries sweet, 
Small sin to those who stole 

But thine are like the Eden fruit, 
Whose theft may cost a soul. 

Oh, coral fruit of Paradise ! 

' Who would not grasp the prize ? 
With heaven so near to bring him back, 

In those eternal eyes. 



MANUELA. 

RED the lips of Manuela 
How the lady loves to kiss ! 

Ah, when Manuela kisses, 
First she kisses with her glances ! 
Then her red lips kiss each other, 
Practising for warm, encounters. 

Then she kisses with her eyelids, 
Kisses with her arching eyebrows, 
With her soft cheek softly rubbing, 
With her chin and hands and fingers. 

All the frame of Manuela, 
All her blood and all her spirit, 
All melt down to burning kisses : 
All she feeds on is their sugar. 

Oh, thou sun above us flying ! 

Breeze from land to land still roaming, 

Saw ye ever yet a lady 

Half so fair or fond of kissing? 

Red the lips of Manuela 
How the lady loves to kiss ! 



ERMENGILDE. 



FAR in the forest 
'Mid the rocks, 
His hands unwound 
Her heavy locks. 
In the tawny waves 

They swam with bliss, 
While red lips pressed 

The close wet kiss. 

Oh, broken leaves and withered flowers, 
Ye witnesses of golden hours ! 
Spring up afresh, and tell to none 
Why your white sides are towards the sun. 

Beneath the vines, 

Where none could hear, 
Vines seem too human 

Creeping near ; 
Awed with their secret 

Dread-confessed, 
Yet both half-lost 
In being bless'd. 
Oh, river swimming to the sea, 
Our death-pall thou shouldst quickly be, 
If one in all the world could dream 
That we had kissed beside thy stream. 



121 



CALLIRHOE. 



DARK eyes dark eyes pale, earnest face, 

Oh, when I feel your power, 
The world seems mean and pitiful, 

Its fiercest storm a shower. 

Dark eyes eternal soul of pride ! 

Deep life of all that's true ! 
Oh, what were death or anything 

To one full thought of you ? 

Away, away to other skies ! 

Away o'er sea and sands ! 
Such eyes as those were never made 

To shine in earthly lands. 



122 



MIRIAM. 



OH Miriam ! Pearl of the morning, gazelle of the 

palm-land, soul of my spirit, 
Daughter of Akiba, beloved of the faithful and the 

Goyim ! 

Blue sea ; sister of lilies and roses ! 
There came to me a dream fresh on the wings of the 

morning, 
Soft as the light of the Silver Sabbath lamp, when it 

shines on the Pesach feast. 

Dear as thine eye when loveliest beaming, love's sister. 
I walked by thy side in a dream ; we walked by a 

river: 

Jordan rolls not more gently : purple its waters ; 
Thine eyes were upon me, beloved, thy star-light eyes, 

blessed as the lamp of the Sanctuary, 
Black eyes of infinite fire oh soul, thou art lovely ! 
Beauty of the East the golden sequins and ear-rings 

the antique gold of Judea, 

Which hangs upon thy forehead with the golden ear 
rings from Damascus, 
Which thou had'st from Sara thy aunt all the gold 

around thy dear face 

Is but the frame of a picture too fine for its setting, 
My arm and thine twined like the vines in spring, 



Miriam. 123 

Slowly we walked and slower, till trembling and 

pausing, 
I kissed thee, oh beloved ! on the sand by the purple 

waters. 
Anna the gracious is fair ; fair, too, is Sara the 

mistress ; 

Abigail the joy of her father, and Ruth the satisfied ; 
Tabitha the roe-buck, light are her footsteps and 

lovely ; 

Esther the secret and silent, and Rachel the sheep ; 
Eva life giving ; Judith praising, confessing ; 
Jemima fair as the day ; Hagar, the stranger ; 
Hannah gracious and merciful ; Huldah all the 

world ; 
Yes, all- the world and its loveliness hath nothing like 

thine, little sister ! 
Thy bitterness, oh Miriam, is sweeter than all their 

sweetness ! 



I2 4 



FLORENCE. 

THE winds still rock the merry waves, 
And the blue waves shake the shore ; 

But thine azure eyes and gentle words 
Will move my heart no more. 

Oh Sea ! thou may'st well be glorious 
With thy snow-capped sapphire waves ; 

There's a fairer white and a deeper blue 
Deep hid in thy silent caves. 

Oh Wind ! thou may'st well be wailing 
With thy moaning, droning sound, 

For a sweeter, softer voice than thine 
By the wind in the water drowned. 

Oh Sea and Wind ! together, 
Since first your course has run, 

Ye have ta'en the brave and beautiful : 
Could ye not spare us one ? 

Not one ! in the breezy morning 

Thou'lt wake me no more from dreams : 

Not one ! in the dewy evening 
I shall miss thine eyes' blue gleams. 



125 



THEN AND NOW. 

WE met and spoke in darkness, 
But my spirit knew your grace, 

And my heart had felt your fetters 
Ere my eyes had seen your face. 

That evening dream is over, 
No cloud between us rolls ; 

Now the light is on our faces, 
And the darkness in our souls. 



126 



THE PROPHET. 

THE prophet said : ' All mysteries 

Unto me are displayed, 
Yet not the Eagle's way in air 

Or a man's who woos a maid ! 

Then I said to myself, ' I soon will solve 

This subtle mystery ;' 
So I asked the man and the maid, but they 

Knew even less than he. 



127 



A SONG WITHOUT AN END. 



THE crow in the woods is cawing 

A solemn Indian rhyme, 
And the cat-bird cries while the wood-pecker 

Is merrily beating time ; 

The leaves are sweetly rustling 
As the west wind sweeps along ; 

Yet all is but the symphony 
Of a deeper and stranger song. 

And when bird and leaf are silent, 

And quiet my spirit wins, 
Then first with wondrous melody 

The Song of the Wood begins. 



128 



WAKING DREAMS. 



THAT thought is no reality, 

Oft waking with a start, we find ; 

But from reality take thought, 
How little then remains behind. 

I walk the greenwood all alone, 
And thou in spirit by my side ; 

Ah, then thou art indeed my own, 
A something more than earthly bride. 

A dead leaf falls, the vision flies 

Like morning mist from mountain stream, 
Yet take that vision from my life, 

And life itself were but a dream ! 



129 



MOUNTAIN AND SEA. 

WHEN gazing on a summer sea 

Beneath a purple sky, 
It oft has seemed a mountain ridge 

Far rising blue and high. 

Now gazing inland and afar, 
The thought still comes to me, 

How much yon distant mountain line 
Is like the dim blue sea. 

When thou art seated by my side 

Loved memories ever rise ; 
When thou art gone up swells the tide 

Of those sweet, sea -blue eyes. 



WHERE ? 



DEEP in the dale the gold veins hide, 
Far up ascends the mountain's brow ; 

But soul of gold and front of pride, 
Where in this wide world bidest thou ? 

Night blesses me. The heart grows sweet 
In silence 'neath dark violet skies ; 

But where are now her fairy feet ? 
And whose and where her starry eyes ? 

Soul of the Eagle ! If I knew 

That thou but tread 'st life soil or sands ! 
Life of the mountain torrents who 

Hath heard thee sing in silent lands ? 

Unbounded one ! could I but feel 
Thou liv'st, though in the Infinite, 

How calmly unto thee I'd kneel, 
And worship in the perfumed night ! 

Moon Queen and Love Star ! ye behold 
All tender mysteries all things fair 

From the dim rites of Sidon old 
Through all Earth's beauty was she there ? 



Where? 131 

Proud serpent-beauty Crested Queen ! 

The tenderest dream this heart has known, 
Art thou to be or hast thou been 

My life my death my golden One ! 

Yes, while the rivers laughing run 

To meet in love the foaming sea, 
While flowers grow fragrant 'neath the sun, 

I know from them that thou must be. 

I know where miners seek their gold, 

Where Heaven kiss the mountain's brow ; 

But, soul of beauty pride untold 
Where in this wide world hidest thou ? 



EUTHANASIA. 



I WOKE at water dashing : 
At my window, bright as stars, 

Two dark brown eyes were flashing 
Their love light through the bars. 

' Thou cam'st to me in spirit 
Amid our mountain streams ; 

Now thou shalt woo me waking, 
As once thou did'st in dreams.' 

And forth once more in darkness 
Twin souls have flown afar ; 

Lo, yonder in the land of light, 
There shines another star. 



'33 



FROST PICTURES. 



WINTER came on, and the frost went down 
O'er field and forest and flood and town. 

It found the windows clear at night ; 

But when morning came, with its golden light, 

They were all like silver, fair to see, 
Chased in wonderful imagery. 

' A New Year's gift to the world ! ' said the frost, 
Rich lace curtains which nothing cost.' 

And over the wide world he went his way, 
Till he passed a cell where a prisoner lay. 

Then he worked the windows thickly and white, 
And went freezing, freezing on through the night. 

The prisoner woke ere morning grey, 
And saw that the frost had been that way, 

Then he wrote on the silvery crispy rind 
The thought that ever was on his mind : 

' O cara mi Jesu, nunc libera me ! ' 

(Dear Lord, from this prison pray set me free!) 



1 34 Frost Pictures. 

Then lighted his taper, and all alone 
Read in the silence till morning shone. 

The Lord in the Castle sleepless lay ; 
hong were the hours, and he wished for day, 

When all at once on his chamber wall 
He saw these letters bright-flickering fall : 

' O cara mi Jesu, nunc libera me ! ' 

(Dear Lord, from this prison pray set me free !) 

Borne through the night from the prison cell, 
The frost and the taper had carried them well. 

Upstarted the lord, amazed I ween, 
For a stranger sight he had never seen. 

And sought till he found what the cause might be, 
And then set the prisoner fairly free, 

Who had writ on his window unthinkingly, 
' O cara mi Jesu, nunc libera me ! ' . 



II. 

THE frost upon the window 

Has painted all in ice, 
Castles and caverns and crystals 

With many a wild device. 

And with my breath it painted ; 

But soon in the morning ray 
The castle and caverns and crystals 

Went running to nothing away. 

The frost made wondrous pictures 
With breath, and all in fun, 

Just as full many a speaker 
More seriously has done. 



Frost Pictures. 135 

Building up domes in figures, 

Painting in metaphor rare, 
Making with breath his pictures, 

Frosty and chill ing and fair. 

But when some great genial spirit 
Came forth with a heart-warmed ray, 

The frosty and crystalline figures 
To nothing went fading away. 



136 



PERSEVERANDO.' 



STILL firm in purpose ever be, 

Wherever drifts the tide, 
And bear in mind, whate'er we see, 

The world to all is wide. 

Still firm in purpose ever be ; 

The soaring albatross 
Sometimes must land on barren sand, 

'Mid withered weeds and moss : 
Sometimes be lower than the gulls, 

Crawl lower than the sea ; 
But when he once can spread his wings, 

Far, far away goes he. 

Great albatross ! the meanest birds 

Spring up and flit away, 
While thou must toil to gain a flight, 

And spread those pinions grey ; 
But when they once are fairly poised, 

Far o'er each chirping thing 
Thou sailest wide to other lands, 

E'en sleeping on the wing. * 

* Many sea-birds find it difficult to rise from the ground, and 
are obliged to run a few paces or struggle before they can fly. 



' Perseverando.' 1 

Oh ! heart, hold fast, though hard it be 

At first to win the way ; 
The darkest morning in the end 

May prove the brightest day ; 
As weak a boat has reached the port, 

In spite of every tide : 
Fear not that every course will fail 

Until the whole are tried. 



137 



138 



AMERICA AND COLUMBIA. 

THROUGH years of toil Columbus 
Unto our New World came ; 

But a charlatan skipped after, 
And gave that world his name. 

All day in street and market 

The liar's name we see ; 
Columbia ! sweet and seldom 

Is left to Poetry. 

And the names bring back a lesson 
Taught to the world in youth 

That the realm of Song and Beauty 
Is the only home of Truth. 



139 



SPRING. 

UPROSE the wild old winter-king, 

And shook his beard of snow ; 
' I hear the first young hare-bell ring, 
"Tis time for me to go ! 

Northward o'er the icy rocks, 
Northward o'er the sea, 
My daughter comes with sunny locks : 
This land's too warm for me ! ' 

And softly came the fair young queen 

O'er mountain, dale, and dell ; 
And where her golden light was seen 
An emerald shadow fell. 

The good-wife oped the window wide, 
The good-man spanned his plough ; 
' 'Tis time to run, 'tis time to ride, 
For Spring is with us now.' 

And the city-maiden smiled that day 

In all her loveliness ; 
' I must pack my furs and things away, 
And think of a new spring dress, 
A new chapeau a feather fine, 
Light gloves, and ribbons gay. ' 
Oh, winter wild ! oh, maiden mine, 
Thus runs the world away. 



140 



THE LANGUAGE OF THE SEA. 

I SPOKE but if my voice was heard, 

You did not answer me, 
But looked with painful earnestness 

Far at the foaming sea. 

The breakers caught the glance and thought, 

And in a wondrous strain, 
With tones of solemn melody 

They brought them back again. 

And what your glances did not tell 

I heard in that deep voice, 
And what to you was strange and sad 

First made my heart rejoice. 

Oh, it was well that none around 

Who laughed so merrily, 
Had ever learned on life's great shore 

The language of the sea. 



LONG AGO. 

MANY a weary year 

Since I waltzed, my love, with thee ! 
And neither of us knows 

Where the other one may be ; 
Dying in iron sorrow, 

Or sunk in the endless sea. 

Many a quiet year 

Since those wild old nights ran by 
Mornings in the forest, 

Days on the mountains high, 
Galleries of golden art : 
Enough, enough, thou beating heart 

I would not have thee die ! 

Galleries of golden art, 

And music soft and low, 
And friends in youth oh, now in truth 

Some faint relief I know. 
And is she dead ? hurrah, my heart ! 

Here comes the hot tears' flow ! 



142 



LOST DREAMS. 

VOICES, voices ever round me crying ! 

Voices in the midnight in the storm ! 
Voices deep in slumber softly sighing ! 

Memories which long ago lost form ! 
Memories which once too lightly faded 

Out of life, and now with endless pain 
In such tone and colour darkly shaded, 

Strive in agony to live again. 

Golden images of early morning ! 

When I stood in youth beside a sea 
Fringed with palaces, why did no warning 

Ring from ivory windows unto me ? 
Voices ! had ye then but softly spoken 

' Print these pictures ever on thy soul ! ' 
Ye would not be wailing now and broken, 

Agonized with tasks beyond control. 

By the sea and in the silent valleys, 

On the lakes where morning mists arise, 
Or in gardens old, through flowery alleys, 

Still they live those gleams of Paradise : 
Dim, too dim, alas ! for aught but feeling, 

Light, too light for mind to hold them long 
Only now and then a form revealing, 

Summoned by the magic spell of SONG. 



Lost Dreams. 143 

For the artist is the true magician I 

Form may die, but harmony still lives ; 
Death and Time may take away volition, 

Not the reflex which true beauty gives 
To Art creative and thus every poet 

Who brings soul-music forth with many a pain, 
Like her of Endor, though he may not know it, 

To others shows the glorious dead again. 



144 



IN A DREAM. 

AND thou shalt walk as in a dream, 
Thine eyes bewildered by the gleam 
Of blending light, till future years 
Have chased thy present midnight fears. 

And thou shalt walk as in a dream, 
Yet oft through memory will it seem 
That one who should have been a guide- 
Or friend, is wanting by thy side. 

And thou shalt walk as in a dream, 
With nothing as it now doth seem ; 
Till all delusion pass away, 
And thou'rt alone in brightest day. 

For in thy heart thou bear'st the key 
Which yet must set thy spirit free, 
And lead thee to th' eternal stream : 
Though now thou walkest in a dream. 



PARADISE LOST. 

AND we are in the winter, 

Sadly chilled with frost and snow ! 
Oh, how strange amid my memories 

Seems last summer's rosy glow. 

When your bright eyes opened on me 
Like two dew-filled lotus flowers, 

When I saw myself reflected 

In the depths of Heaven's bowers. 

But in my deepest rapture 
It all vanished and I fell 

Back to artificial roses : 

Heavenly lotus, fare thee well ! 



10 



146 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

CLOTILDA writes such glowing verses, 
Maria scarce with prose can play ; 

Ah me ! how oft an idle fancy 

Leads mortals from the narrow way. 

For when it came to real singing 
Clotilda dared not hum a line, 

While fair Maria, like a Sappho, 

Poured forth her soul in thrills divine. 



HOW THE ENGINEER DIED AT 
DESJARDINS.' 

The engineer (brave fellow) whistled "down brakes," and 
while endeavouring to avert the catastrophe went down with 
the engine. Instead of attempting to escape at the first warn 
ing, he staid until the moment when the engine was precipi 
tated into the abyss, and was reversing it and endeavouring to 
prevent if possible the fatal results.' N. Y. Albany Evening 
Journal, 1856. 

THE locomotive screamed along, 

A darting death on wings ; 
And the smoke puffed out its masses black, 

As hell its legions flings, 
Over the track, right down the road, 

Swift as the desert wind, 
With a draw-bridge gaping wide before, 

And a hundred souls behind. 

The engineer looked out, and saw 

That hope was all in vain, 
Yet whistled to the brakesman down ! 

' I'll die, or save the train. ' 
And did he leap to save himself? 

No in a desperate strife 
He wrestled with the Iron Fiend, 

True to the last in life. 



148 Hffw the Engineer Died at Desjardins. 

True to the heart, not caring though 

The last faint chance were gone, 
While like a thundering avalanche 

The roaring train flew on, 
Right o'er the draw right down the gulf, 

In one tremendous fall. 
'Mid screaming steam and crashing iron, 

Went engineer and all. 

Man of the road ! May truth itself 

Judge well this thought of mine, 
That I do deem it worth a life 

To die a death like thine ! 
The Roll of Honour will not end, 

Nor the Martyrs' list be done, 
Till that Desjardins engineer 

Be written down as one. 



SONGS OF THE 

AMERICAN WAR OF EMANCIPATION, 
18611865. 



THE KNIGHT AND THE DRAGON. 
JULY, 1861. 

WHEN I wandered in the land of Art 
'Mid the sharp-tipped dreams, where blue Madonnas 
Sit like butterflies upon a sunflower, 
Framed in fragments of the Golden Ages, 
Oft I noted that in all Cathedrals, 
Here or there amid grotesquest carving, 
One quaint symbol never was forgotten- 
Soon or later I was sure to find it 
Lurking somewhere in entrellised columns ; 
Peeping strangely through a gnarling impost, 
Always came the strange Masonic symbol 
Of a warrior, helmeted and sworded, 
Fighting grimly with a devil dragon. 

Good old priests have told me that the figure 
Simply meant St George : you know the story 
Deeper heads will have it 'tis a symbol, 
Persian-old the myth of Light and Darkness, 
Ahriman and Ormuzd fiercely fighting, 
Ever fighting the great world-old battle. 

And it is the fight of Light and Darkness, 

The great fight of God against the Devil : 

The great fight of Tyranny and Freedom j 

Truth and Right against foul Might and Falsehood : 

Many a thousand years the two have battled 

Tell me, is it an unending struggle ? 



152 The Knight and the Dragon. 

Many voices cry, ' It is unending ; ' 

Man is damned by birth, for black transgression 

And the lust of power are his nature, 

Slavery, like sin, must last for ever : 

Woe unto the weaker woe eternal ; 

God and Sin and Pain have plainly spoken, 

And the Earth will ne'er be free from bondage.' 

Let me see once more that ancient carving : 

No ; it is not a mere balanced battle ; 

True, the knight seems smothered by the dragon, 

True, the foul and snaky folds are round him ; 

True, he gasps amid the flame and poison j 

But his blade is in tha monster's vitals, 

And the grisly drake is slowly dying. 

Yes, although so slowly, he is dying ; 
Many thousand years have fled in darkness 
Since the sword first cut his scaly armour, 
And the red wound roused him into madness ; 
But the good knight is of race immortal 
Ever young, and passionate, and fearless ; 
And the strength which oozes from the dragon 
Blooms reviving in the glorious warrior. 

Ancient dragon, you are slowly dying ! 

Golden warrior, ever fairer, stronger ! 

Child of Light, my great Prometheus-Balder, 

Dear and beautiful and never-fading, 

Rouse ! for now the fire-drake makes him ready 

For his maddest, fiercest, foulest struggle 

Rouse ! 

Oh, countrymen ! men of the Northland 
All around you twines the Southern dragon, 
All your life is blent with subtle poison, 
All your veins are fired with heat infernal, 



The Knight and the Dragon. 153 

From the loathsome devil's spume and breathing : 
Strike, my warrior, strike him dead for ever ! 
End the world-old strife between the oppressor 
And the oppressed : press on, for you must conquer. 

Now the good knight frees him from the dragon, 

Casts aside the ancient heavy armour, 

Bathes him in the purest light of heaven, 

In the intensest lucent-flowing spirit ; 

White and beautiful and lithe and naked, 

Oh ! how golden fair withouten armour ! 

True, it shielded him for many ages ; 

True, it guarded him against the dragon ; 

But it always was a heavy armour, 

Girding, smothering, chafing unto bleeding 

Those fair limbs of ivory-purest beauty : 

Strange that thousands should have .dreamed that 

armour 

Was his chiefest charm and best worth keeping ; 
Soul of Beauty; rule this world for ever. 



154 



A SONG OF '62. 



THERE'S a sorrowful old story how the army of the 

Turk 

Once fell into an ambush, full of blood and evil work ; 
When the fate-believing Moslem, caring not that all 

was gone, 
With sword a-sheath and eyes firm closed right into 

death rode on. 

He could not fly his hour had come and so he 

kissed the rod 
With La il Allah ! on his lips, gave all the rest to 

God: 
Down rolled the rocks the muskets roared in heaps 

the Faithful fell, 
But one escaped of all the host the dreadful tale to 

tell. 

But there's another story, how a slave, in cruel sport, 
Was thrown unto a tiger before the. Roman court. 
The man was born of fighting blood, and so he turned 

at bay : 
The Roman at the tiger ! and the great brute slunk 

away ! 



A Song of 62. 155 

Hurrah ! we're called to battle hurrah ! the word is 
' fight ! ' 

We've a bloody day before us, perhaps a deathly 
night. 

But let there happen what there may in all our battle- 
work, 

We'll pattern by the Roman, and never by the Turk. 



I 5 6 



CAVALRY SONG. 
1862. 

WEAPONED well to war we ride, 
With sabres ringing by our side, 
The warning knell of death to all, 
Who hold the holiest cause in thrall, 

The sacred Right 

Which grows to Might, 
The day which dawns in blood-red light 

Weaponed well to war we ride, 
To conquer, tide what may betide, 
Since never yet beneath the sun 
Was battle by the .devil won j 

For what to thee 

Defeat may be 
Time makes a glorious victory. 

Weaponed well to war we ride 
\Vho braves the battle wins the bride ; 
Who dies the death for truth shall be 
Alive in love eternally. 

Though dead he lies, 

Soft starry eyes 
Smile hope o him from purple skies. 



Cavalry Song. 157 

W caponed well to war we ride : 

Hurrah for the surging thunder-tide ! 

When the cannon's roar makes all seem large, 

And the war-horse screams in the crashing charge, 

And the rider strong 

Whom he bears along 
Is a death-dart shot at the yielding throng. 

Weaponed well to war we ride : 
The ball is open, the hall is wide ; 
The sabre as it quits the sheath, 
And beams with the lurid light of death, 

And the deadly glance 

Of the glittering lance, 
Are the taper-lights of the battle-dance. 

Weaponed well to war we ride, 
Find your foeman on either side ; 
But woe to those who miss the time 
When one false step is a deadly crime : 

Who loses breath 

In the dance of death 
Wins nor wears nor wants the wreath. 

Weaponed well to war we ride 
Our swords are keen and our cause is tried ; 
When the sharp edge cuts and the blood runs free, 
May we die in the hour of victory ! 

We feel no dread 

The battle bed, 
Where'er it be, has heaven o'erhead. 



i 5 8 



THE PROCLAMATION.* 
SEPTEMBER 22, 1862. 

NOW who has done the greatest deed 

Which History has ever known ? 
And who in Freedom's direst need 

Became her bravest champion ? 
Who a whole continent set free ? 

Who killed the curse and broke the ban 
Which made a lie of liberty ? 

You Father Abraham you're the man ! 

The deed is done. Millions have yearned 

To see the spear of freedom cast : 
The dragon writhed and roared and burned : 

You've smote him full and square at last. 
O Great and True ! You do not know, 

You cannot tell you cannot feel 
How far through time your name must go, 
Honoured by all men, high or low, 

Wherever Freedom's votaries kneel. 

* This poem was written on the day when the Proclamation 
appeared. 



The Proclamation, 150 

This wide world talks in many a tongue 

This world boasts many a noble state 
In all your praises will be sung, 

In all the great will call you great. 
Freedom ! Where'er that word is known, 

On silent shore, by sounding sea, 
'Mid millions or in deserts lone, 

Ygur noble name shall ever be. 

The word is out the deed is done 

The spear is cast dread no delay. 
When such a steed is fairly on 

Fate never fails to find a way. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! The track is clear, 

We know your policy and plan ; 
We'll stand by you through every year : 

Now, Father Abraham, you're our man. 



i6o 



WHEN THE CAPTAIN IS READY TO 
RIDE. 

FEBRUARY 17, 1863. 

Air ' Was helfen -niir tausend Ducaten, tra la.' 

IN the morning when trumpets are sounding, tra la, 

Our horses are quickly untied, 
And fast down the road we go bounding tra la t 

Or over the meadow-land ride ; 



For we are the boys of the sword, 

Who can jump from the bed or the board, 

And be off like a shot to the skirmishing hot, 

When the Captain is ready to ride. 

' Well, scout, have you something to tell us ?' tra la, 

' The rebels are hid by the hill, . 
And the fellows believe they can sell us ah ha ! 

But I know of a road by the mill.' 

' We'll give them no chances to turn on the heel, 

We'll give them the powder and ball ; 
We'll give them the > diet, we'll give them the steel ; 

We'll give them * e devil and all ! ' 



When the Captain is Ready to Ride. 161 

Hurrah for the battle ! Hurrah for a bout ! 

How we scatter the soldiers of sin ! 
When our cavalry spreads like a thunder-cloud out, 

And drives like a thunderbolt in. 

Hurrah for the men of the sword ! 

Who fight for the cause of the Lord ! 
Oh, the sabre's sharp edge is the entering wedge 
In a war to let liberty in. 



ii 



1 62 



THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 
OCTOBER 27, 1864. 

THAT I have lived to know this time, 

That I have lived this fight to see, 
Through Slavery's night to Freedom's prime, 

Is Heaven's own holiest joy to me. 
1 do not ask to see the end, 

For what am I to be so blest ? 
Enough for me the strife's begun, 

And God will care for all the rest. 

Through blood-red clouds the light I see, 
Nunc dimittis Domine ! 

Gone are those nightmares of the past, 

The hardening fear the lingering doubt, 
If Lord or Slave unto the last 

Must be our parts to still act out. 
How oft they came those fiendish thoughts, 

Like vampires rising from the grave ; 
' Oh, call your labour what you will, 

The labourer is always slave. ' 
From all devilish doubt set free, 
Nunc dimittis Domine! 



The Beginning of the End. 1 63 

The world has seen a thousand wars, 

To test humanity's great truth, 
Yet still the prison kept its bars, 

And still the strife was one of youth, 
Of headlong Youth with wary Age : 

But Man is somewhat wiser grown, 
While Ancient Evil weakens fast, 

And soon it shall be overthrown. 
Saints have prayed this time to see, 
Nunc dimittis Doming ! 

And thus spoke God : ' Out of the North ' 

(In every age the place of doom), 
' Behold, great evil shall come forth.' 

Wail ! South-land, wail ! for it has come. 
'Woe to the South ! ' the word went forth 

In solemn warning years ago, 
And many on the border laughed : 

The bolt is shot now let it go ! 
Lord ! we bow our heads to thee ! 
Nunc dimittis Domine! 

Ho ! Northmen of the stormy coast ! 

Ye chosen with the avenging sword, 
Called forth it is no idle boast 

To do the bidding of the Lord, 
Go on ! And this ye shall not lose, 

This to your name shall glory lend, 
That Northmen in the world's long fight 

First brought the battle towards an end. 
'Tis the end of Slavery. 
Nunc dimittis Do/nine! 



164 



FREE ! 
1865. 

FREE, free, free 
The whole land shall be, 
North and South, from sea to sea, 

Free for ever free ! 

Free, free, free 
Shall all our labour be, 
Without a lash, without a chain, 
Without reproach, without a strain, 
Without a sneer or rankling word, 
Without a dungeon and the cord: 
North and South, from sea to sea, 
Free for ever free ! 

Free, free, free 
Our Speech shall ever be ; 
Far as Earth's waters run and ring, 
Far as the wild birds soar or sing, 
Where voice may speak a'nd voice reply, 
And white-winged sheets like angels fly, 
North and South, from sea to sea, 
Free for ever free ! 



Free! 

Free, free, free 
Our Thought shall ever be, 
Yes, freer yet with every year ; 
What man may dare or heart holds dear 
Shall ring and roll through every land 
In speech which all may understand. 
North and South, from sea to sea, 
Free for ever free. 

Free, free, free ! 
And God our guide shall be ! 
He led our fathers on of old 
Through trials dark and manifold, 
Till they the mark appointed won ; 
Us will he lead yet further on, 
Till all shall be, from sea to sea, 
Free for ever free. 



i66 



REAL INCIDENTS. 

BLUE AND GREY. 
DECEMBER, 1865. 



' THE only difference in your war,' 

I heard a stranger say, 
' Is that one side is dressed in blue, 

The other clad in grey.' 

I went into a Federal camp, 

I heard the soldiers cry : 
' Hurrah ! there come the newspapers ! 

And saw them rush to buy. 

I went along the Valley Road, 

And met upon my way 
Ten of Lee's straggling infantry, 

All dressed in rebel grey. 

One held a proclamation out, 
And as I stopped my steed, 

Said : ' Tell us what this paper says ? 
For none of us can read ! ' 



Real Incidents. 167 

And I spoke out : ' If you could read, 

And find out what is true, 
Instead of wearing Davis grey, 

You'd bear the Lincoln blue.' 

Grey is the colour of the. dust 

In which the serpent crawls, 
And blue the hue of heaven, which looks 
- Down on earth's prison walls. 



II. 

ONE day, when I was on the march, 

In Eighteen Sixty-three, 
The very day when General Meade 

Was driving General Lee 
Before him out of Maryland, 

With all his chivalry : 

We passed a school-house on the road, 
The benches scattered round ; 

But, ah! the scholars, where were they? 
For no familiar sound 

Of lessons conned, or pleasant play, 
Was heard in all the bound. 

I entered, and I stood alone ; 

The troop went slowly by, 
And fainter grew the captain's tone, 

And faint the driver's cry ; 
The heavy cannon's clank and groan 
Still lessened, passing further on, 

Yet never seemed to die : 
Was it an echo all my own, 

Or the wild brook running nigh ? 



1 68 Real Incidents. 

I looked around, and on the walls 

I read in writing clear : 
' We've gained the day, lue'Zl soon have all 

The country far and near,' 
Signed by a rebel officer, 

A boasting cavalier. 

Hodie tibi, eras mihi, 

Beneath this vaunting strain, 

' To-day is thine, to-morrow mine,' 
I wrote as clear and plain : 

No doubt it pleased the schoolmaster 
When he came back again ! 

'Twixt Boonsboro" and Hagerstown 

That log-hut school-house stands, 
The writing still upon the wall : 

But where are now the bands 
Which swept so proudly up and down, 

O'er all the border lands ?- 
Oh ! whither went the stately house 

Which stood upon the sands ? 



The foregoing incidents are from my own personal 
experience. C. G. L. 



THE END. 



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